Starcraft: Band of Brothers
by SmurfKiller
Summary: [FIN & REV] As the final battle against the Overmind culminates, see through the eyes of Terran and Protoss warriors as they fight and find both courage and death against the greatest scourge of the galaxy. Thanks to all readers.
1. Prologue: Before the Storm

It's been a couple of years since I sat down and started writing this story, with no idea where it was going. It was my first story, and its success helped me to continue writing fanfiction. I could say I'm reissuing this, but I'm not. I chose quantity over quality in the initial phase, and now a little part of me nags to fix the mistakes in this story. The plot has been expanded (a tiny bit), so I hope any confusion is partially erased.

Some major changes:

"Tassandar" has been changed to "Tassadar."

Dramatis Personae has been eliminated; a glossary as the last chapter has been added.

Major rewrites occur in most chapters, minor fixer-uppers occur in all chapters.

Once again, enjoy.

Starcraft: Band of Brothers

By: Smurfkiller

_Author's Note: This story started as a writing experiment, inspired by Stephen Ambrose's book _Band of Brothers. _The group of soldiers he wrote about were World War II paratroopers, who landed in Normandy and fought to the heart of Nazi Germany._

_This story is the Starcraft version, though the idea came from the famous quote in Shakespeare's _Henry V.

_After scrapping the first plot, the novel became a tale about a futuristic band of brothers who fight against the Overmind. But not only does humanity unite as brothers-in-arms in this tale, but Protoss and humans fight as brothers too. Check the levels "The Shadow Hunters" and "The Eye of the Storm" on _Starcraft _for more details concerning the background of this tale._

_Disclaimer: In no way do I own _Starcraft's_ characters, I just have the game and love it. _Starcraft_ belongs to Blizzard, not me. Also, this novel is modeled after Stephen Ambrose's _Band of Brothers_, Mark Bowden's _Black Hawk Down, _and Steven Spielberg's_ Saving Private Ryan _to give the reader a vivid sense of combat._

_Etc: There is a lot of violence and language in this book, so don't say I didn't warn you. This is my first major attempt to write a fanfiction novel as well. This story has been REVAMPED and edited. _

_"...we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother."_

Excerpt from the Saint Crispian Day's Speech, _Henry V_, Shakespeare

Prologue: Before the Storm

**High orbit, above Aiur**

It is said that history is written by the winners. If the Zerg win, there will be no history left to write. Nor people to read about it.

James Raynor stood at the bridge of the battlecruiser _Hyperion_. He wished he brought more of the _Behemoth_-class battlecruisers with him, as he surveyed the fleet through the thick glass that separated the heat of the bridge from the cold void of space.

In one massive ring, a few dozen battlecruisers, gray armor blending into the dark horizon behind them, orbited, juxtaposing the glowing and proud ships of the Protoss fleets, dozens of sausage shaped carriers. In between these leviathans were smaller vessels of every type, and space, the inconceivable idea of an infinite mass, was being filled by these somber gray and radiant yellow vessels.

All looking down at the world.

The Protoss homeworld of Aiur floated in the darkness of space, where the gods of the Protoss left them in their Garden of Eden. Large bodies of water surrounded the dark, green landmasses of Aiur, still largely uninhabited, preserving the sanctuaries the gods left the Firstborn. The lush green scenery fit in well with Aiur's green-blue seas, an ideal home for the ideal race.

But there, in the middle of everything, a cancer grew wildly out of control, a solid mass purple extending from the fringes of land to the interior of the huge landmass. It was an infestation: Zerg. They were choking the planet, slowly swallowing the world in an endless mass of the Horde. To attack such a place was suicidal. _But attack it we will, _Raynor thought, gulping down any fear.

"Sir, the Protoss carrier _Gantrithor_ is signaling. Executor Tassadar reports it's time to for all transports to descend," the ship's communications officer said.

"Are the dropships in place, Jackie?"

"Yessir."

Their mission was on the brink of suicidal. There was simply no way to attack the broods that were surrounding the Overmind head-on; that _would_ be suicide. After meeting with Tassadar, Raynor had agreed that something more than a just brunt, head-on battle would be in play. Something more covert and clandestine, an operation that would require skillful maneuvering of troops.

Under air support from the remnants of the Protoss Homefleet and the ships under Raynor's command, hundreds of companies of Terran marines and firebats, along with their counterpart, Zealots, would descend on strategic Zerg establishments, taking them out as warships continued a fierce bombardment damaging anything they could. A small fleet would also lure most Zerg flyers out into space, so air assaults would be minimal to the ground troops. And finally, another more heavily armored assault would wait until the infantry companies accomplished their task, and then begin landing to pacify whatever remained of the peripheral Zerg forces.

Then, the combined Protoss and Terran forces would begin the final assault against the Overmind, surrounding it with the goal of vaporizing every trace of Zerg on Aiur.

The operation required thousands of men willing to take the risk and be dropped from transports into Zerg terrain, known as the "Creep" to the troops. Not only was it alive, the Creep was unpredictable, scaring even veteran troops. A blind man could walk on the Creep and feel the ground was perfectly normal until it started to ooze and feel like jelly, then trap him like quicksand, clinging on and unwilling to let go. And that wasn't the worst part.

The Zerg were cunning, coordinated by the massive "Overlords" that were so hard to bring down. They would rip off the flanks of a squadron, then attack with skirmishers, the little "Zerglings," as more Zerg would erupt from underground, using a pincer movement to trap and encircle remaining troops.

Many of Raynor's Raiders, the name they called the men that were still loyal to him after he broke off from the Sons of Korhal, were Sarian, from the planet of Mar Sara. They were willing to fight and die for their homeworld, realizing if the Protoss who blew their planet to smithereens couldn't stop the Zerg, no one could. Many of the men joked and smiled at the irony about saving the homeworld of a race that destroyed their own.

The other men who were willing to go were mercenaries. From all over the Koprulu Sector they came, some former marines from the Confederate Marine Corp, others from the blasted worlds of Tarsonis, Chau Sara, Antiga Prime, and so on. As long as there was a flow of money into their pockets, they would fight.

And the Zealots? They would fight to the death. It was for Aiur, and that was all that needed to be said.

Raynor watched the fleet orbiting above the planet, knowing that the fate of Humanity laid in the hands of a dedicated few.

"Well, boys and girls," Raynor said, shuffling his feet away from the head of the bridge, "you know I don't like making big speeches before a thing like this occurs." Silence greeted his sentence. His crew looked up at him. "But if you all give the Zerg a piece of hell out there, we won't have a thing to worry about after this. Good luck."

The former marshal wasn't a fan of long speeches. _Keep it short, keep it to the point. _

His crew nodded, exchanging looks as smiles crept on their faces. He was their icon, their superman who could do no wrong. He was their commander, and they had been through hell and back with him, still hanging on to the sense of loyalty and duty.

They were ready to fight.

"Andersen, signal all dropships and shuttles to start descending. Battlecruisers and wraith escorts, follow me."

The silence and thoughts evaporated as the bridge of the _Hyperion_ began to move as one massive machine. Outside, in the array of capital ships, dozens of smaller dropships suddenly took a synchronized dive into the world, descending as rapidly as they could. They were heading for the eye of the storm.


	2. Chapter 1: Five Minutes 'till drop

Chapter One: Five Minutes 'till drop

_"For five hundred bucks I'll kill anyone you want."_

Captain Nathan Algren, _The Last Samurai_

**Onboard dropship _T-34_**

They could feel the dropship shuddering as it entered Aiur's atmosphere, shaking under the steep dive. All one hundred and twenty marines of Company Zulu-1, Z-1, felt the nose of the dropship _T-34_ descend sharply down, steadily balancing itself as it began dropping faster. And all of them were nervous, as they stared out of the portholes, looking at the peaceful green and brown mass of land being consumed by purple Creep.

First lieutenant Adam Jones led one squadron of the men on the ship, all of them "traitors" to the Terran Dominion, men who decided to remain with Jim Raynor, and not join the new empire that was being formed out of the old Terran Confederacy. They were all from Mar Sara, hardened veterans of Humanity's tireless warring.

Their armor consisted of newly issued blue CMC-400 armor, spit-polished clean after the issue from Umoja, whose government was sympathetic Raynor's Raiders. Each Confederate Marine Corp-400 Exosuit provided a marine with numerous features, including full NBC protection and minimum protection from 8mm rounds fired at ten meters. Nobody had considered how easily diamond edged Zerg claws could cut CMC armor.

Standard issued Gauss rifles laid in their laps or in their hands, each one oiled and lubricated hours before, and now kept at ready. A long, thin, strong cord was attached to each of the gun's handle, snaking its way to the armor, preventing the loss of weapons in battle. The C-14 Impaler rifle fired supersonic, 3.5 centimeter long "spikes" in volleys of three, with each bullet designed to penetrate through armor, carapace, or flesh. Every Raider was equipped with twenty-five clips of these precision rounds, as well as five clips of exploding "Dookie" rounds that worked well against massed enemies.

The Sarians sat on one side of the ship, the visors of their helmets opened, stone cold, quietly chatting and whispering as they waited to be dropped. Jones smiled. They were his boys, disciplined and professional. Waiting for the signal to drop.

_Not like the boys on the other side of the ship,_ he thought, as he turned his head to look at the men sitting on the other side.

"Mercs" they called them, buff, unshaven young men who believed that they could kill anyone who tried to threaten them. The mercenary armor was like a colorful party, like the_ Domingo_ _Alto _parades Jones had seen as a kid. Some of them, former members of the various defunct Confederacy squadrons, had faded yellow, black, and orange colored armor, marking each of the defunct CMC squadrons. Epsilon, Omega, Delta, Alpha...they were all represented.

Jones smiled. He remembered how easy Confederate Epsilon scouts were to kill, trying to blend into the dull colored world, his home of Mar Sara. The yellow-marked Epsilon troops had not lasted long when Mar Sara's colonists began to revolt.

Others mercenaries had spray painted their armor to match what they thought Protoss jungles would look like, idiots who forgot that they were going to land on the flamboyant colors of purple and red of Zerg surroundings. Many of them had armor that was so battered that he could hardly see them lasting under the Zerg's claws.

Their guns were unusual too. Some had Gauss rifles, older versions or modified versions to fit each merc's need, with tally marks on the guns to show how many kills they had gotten. Some had a grenade launcher on the front, some had a bayonet. Other mercs had brought whatever gun they could scrounge up from the pawn shops of the ragged fringe worlds. Shotguns, rifles, and even a CMC "Gibber" were cradled like babies in the laps of the mercs.

They laughed and cursed loudly, chatting about how many Zerg they were going to slaughter; their discourse was arranged in such a way to overcome each man's psychological, internal fears, with each trying to quell doubts by boisterously proclaiming how many Zerg they were going to rape of lives with a spray of lead, as they puffed on cigars, providing a choking cloud of smoke inside the cramped dropship.

Jones sneered, choking on the smoke. They would not last in battle for long. _To hell with them, I'm looking after my own men. _

Their commander's voice crackled through the intercom system hooked up in the ship, and also through each man's helmet, through the ICD. They listened carefully to what Raynor had to say, ending with his "Good luck." And for once, the mercs shut up, soberly picking up their own guns and sitting on the bench. One opened his visor, spit out his cigarette, grabbed a paper bag from a storage box, vomiting the remains of his meals into it. His buddies laughed, slapping him on the back. Jones watched, cold stare hidden by his visor. _Probably the remains of the last meal you'll ever get to see, piece of filth. _He watched, disgusted as the man wiped his crap on his armor, staining the already rusted metal. _Discipline. Courage. Honor. That's what they taught us in the Academy, not how to fuck Zerg with bullets. Mother. I hope these idiots all die. _

A new voice crackled through the intercom after Raynor's speech.

"Five minutes 'till drop boys," a faintly humorous female voice told them, one of the two pilots of the dropship. The other one joined in. "Anything you want to shout out or do, do it now, before we enter the atmosphere. It's gonna be 'shake and bake' after this."

One of his marines began saying a Hail Mary, quietly, under his breath, but the ship was so quiet that everyone could hear him.

"What the hell is he doing?" one of the mercs asked, his unshaven face and pudgy nose matched his equally ugly, dirty Gauss rifle.

"He's saying a prayer, something out of the old Earth religions, Christianity." Another squadron commander, Patrick O'toole, said, eyeing the merc nervously.

"Jesus," the merc responded. It made Jones sneer even more, seeing that he didn't even realize he was saying a name of one of the people that was associated with Christianity. _Good. The dumber, the less I have to deal with these assholes._

A jolting bump brought everyone's bottoms up an inch before they settled back down. Atmospheric landing was never fun.

One of the mercenary officers nodded to Jones. _Guess it's time to review the mission briefings, _Jones thought. He nodded back to the other lieutenant, Bo "Hornet" Nacdle. The man's boyish, almost fair face was unlike the ugly features of mercenaries; only the speckled, salt-and-pepper beard made his seem like a mercenary, but the man didn't fit it with the typical profile. Grey flecked eyes looked straight into Jones, and it seemed like he was reading his mind.

_He can't be a telepath, he's just a goddamn merc. _Jones' thoughts were interrupted by a prick of surprise, but he had an odd feeling that that emotion hadn't come off of him..._this guy's definitely the oddball. _

It intimidated him, the man. Jones didn't know what it was, but there was something about him he didn't like, because he didn't understand. And information about Nacdle was scarce; none of the other officers knew anything about him. They said he was a NBK, military slang for a natural born killer, who had worked up the ranks during the Morian Mining Revolts and the Confederate Marine Corps.

Jones didn't give a damn. The man was a merc. A piece of filth._ Like the prostitute I screwed before coming over here._

Jones cleared his throat. Sixty of the one hundred and twenty men looked up at him, all of them loyal members of Raynor's Raiders. The other sixty were mercs. "Just want to let you know guys, what Raynor said was right. If we can get this mission done, we're going to take a visit to some Protoss amusement parks, meet some hot Protoss women, and get the hell out of here. You know what our objectives are. You know what to do. We won't have to worry about Zerg anymore, alright?" Jones smiled as he was greeted with a loud "No Fear!" from his men, the slogan they lived by through the SoK campaigns on Antiga Prime and Mar Sara. _Give them time to relax before they face a hell-hole. _

But they knew he was joking. They were getting straight out and to Umoja after this, back to their homes.

The mercs, on the other hand, were strangely silent. Some fingered their rifles nervously. _But then again_, Jones thought, _they don't have a goddamn home._

"Get done whatever needs to be done," Nacdle, his quiet, rumbling voice almost seemed to sooth the marines into calmness. The mercenaries and their squad commanders nodded, knowing that Nacdle was their chief. Both first lieutenants could feel the disunity that separated the two groups, as they curiously surveyed each other, as if they were worlds apart.

Mentally, Jones ran through the squadron's briefings by a colonel on his home battlecruiser, the _Sun Arc_:

_"You'll be part of a task force of 144 dropships. All of them will be landing on the outer defenses of the Overmind. Each ship will have eight squadrons, composed of fifteen men. You officers will be in charge of one of these squads."_

Zulu, Jones' company, was standard, with 120 men in all, though most ships were lacking in Raynor's Raiders; mercenaries had been hired to fill in the gaps. Ships were divided between the Raiders and mercenary squadrons, since both groups didn't want to fight alongside each other. Hired mercenaries and Raynor's Raiders had fought pitched battles against each other during the fall of the Confederacy, and Jones felt he had seen some men pillaging their way into Antiga...

Zulu felt the jolt and bump from entering the atmosphere, knocking Jones and Nacdle off their feet. As Jones struggled to his feet, he found himself being lifted up and onto his boots by Nacdle, who had already recovered. He gave a grim smile Jones, and met in a corner with his three other merc squadron commanders. Jones did the same, reviewing the mission with his three other commanders, from the Raiders.

More of the memorized battle plan ran its way into Jones' head from the colonel, from the debriefing room, as the commanding officers chatted:

_"Specifically, Jones, Zulu will land on the Creep by a Zerg Hive Cluster. Yeah, those bizarre structures that produce Zerg. Kill it. It'll hold off your lead for a while, but keep on at it. Seal off the cluster and then began to destroy it; call in airstrikes while blowing up any defensive structures, like the Spore colonies and the Sunken colonies. Be careful of the goddamn root, okay? You won't have enough firepower to kill the Hive on their own, but damage it substantially to let the Protoss and Terran ships destroy it_. _After your mission is complete, evac'd by dropships to a safer location; wait for the next orders."_

Nacdle had already taken the lead.

"All right, let's get at 'em. Lieutenant Jones, looks like your going first with your men."

Jones nodded.

"2 minutes 'till drop," the cool calm voice of the pilot said. Outside, they could hear the battle, as the Gemini missiles of wraiths began exploding the unlucky few Zerg flyers and Overlords still in the air. Something violently rocked the ship, throwing men off their seats.

"Shit, what was that?" one of the mercs said. Jones looked out the window. Below, three or four kilometers on the ground, was one of those anti-aircraft Spore colonies, with several more Sunken and Spore colonies defending the massive Hive structure. _What the heck? Wasn't the air support supposed to take out all anti-aircraft weapons? _Jones wondered. He could see Zerglings, infamous for their speediness and feral claws, running in a line, waiting for the men to come.

"30 seconds 'till drop," the pilot said, seemingly unaware at the biological flak that was coming from the ground.

"Ok! I'm leading my squadron out! Z-1A, follow me!" Jones shouted over the din of the men screaming. They wanted to make it off the transport alive. The dropship descended faster.

Jones's squadron followed, fifteen men (including him) in the blue armor. Airborne landings were simple: they could jump out at a maximum of 500 meters without damage to themselves and the armor. The CMC-400 armor was specially designed to take the brunt of the bone-crunching impact, so the men's bodies would stay unbroken in their protective shell.

"Hatch is opening, boys," the female pilot's voice crackled again through the intercom, "altitude is 250 meters. Have a happy fall."

The second pilot screamed something vulgar. "Portside Annie, get portside. We're losing pressure. Goddamn flak!"

The "hatch" where they would drop out of was in the middle of the floor of the ship, and as it opened, Jones could see the battle already unfolding; Spore colonies were firing on the dozens of transports dropping troops.

Jones jumped out the hatch with four other of his squad, their _rubass_ visors down to shield them from the pieces of dust that could get in their eyes and distract them. The dropship "threw" out the marines, looking like a strangely shaped horse shoe crab ejecting out sand from underneath it. More and more marines jumped out. As Jones looked up, he could see the dropship being hit by a Spore colony continuously, a green ball of biological ooze, smattering before another ball came, and another... _That ship isn't going to last before my guys can all get out,_ Jones realized.

The two pilots realized this as well, though they were told something different by debrief. _T-_type dropships had been heavily modified to cram in a full company of marines, and reinforced with NeoSteel armor that was usually placed on battlecruisers. But the Spore colony's balls of acid though, still ate through the armor as quickly as the unmodified dropships.

The transport tried to pull out, but the final green ball hit the tail, breaking it off. One last drop of five marines, mercs by the color of their armor, jumped out, and the dropship began a slow and circling descend to the ground, with small fires burning in the hull. With deafening _thud_, it hit the ground a few kilometers from the Hive, and laid there, silent. Zerglings began to surround it, eagerly wanting to hunt prey. Jones also hit the ground with a _thud_, though it was cushioned by his armor. He looked through his visor, his sterile robot-like form hiding his staring disbelief at the crash.

They were going to have to change their mission plans.


	3. Chapter 2: Screw the Mission

Chapter Two: Screw the mission

**Near crashed dropship _T-34_**

Private first class John Shumaker hated his rank. Raynor had adopted the ranking system of the Confederate Marine Corps, who had adopted it from old Earth military ranking. His Pfc. status made him inferior to the officers, but he wanted to have the prestige of an officer like first lieutenant squad commander Adam Jones. And the privileges and pay too.

But now, as he saw the massive dropship he was just in go down in a mass of smoke and dust, with Zerg surrounding it, he knew fully well why he wasn't an officer: he was panicking under his robotic armor. He stared in horror as the dropship, limp and broken, went down in flames, and Zerglings climbing on its hull. He turned around to Jones.

"What the hell are we going to do now, huh? What the fuck do we do now?"

Jones was still locked in his gaze at the ship, ignoring Shumaker's wavering voice hidden behind curses, not reprimanding him for profanity. _All those men..._he thought. His first idea was to scratch the entire original mission and begin rescuing the troops trapped inside the ship, but how could he and the few men he had fight a horde of Zerg? He didn't even know if any one survived the wreck, though the pilots had done exceedingly well to level the ship before impact. His training hadn't let him deal with this! Hell, this was the first time he had done an airborne operation! What the hell did this had to happen to him? Immediately, he set the ICD to the frequency of the dropship's.

"_T-34_, _T-34_, do you hear me? Respond please." This time, the crackle of static was not heard. Just a long, dulling buzzing sound. The ship's crew was either dead or the communication device was broken. He tried his unit's frequency next.

"Zulu-1, Zulu-1, anyone else out there in the dropship, respond please." Jones noticed his own voice was wavering. He kept it steady. Before anyone he hoped on the dropship could respond, the other infantry squadron commander who had landed responded.

"Z-1A, this is Zulu-1B. Meet us at the trees by the Hive. There are Zerg units moving into your position," the voice belonged to Nacdle, still dead calm.

_Trees? _Jones wondered. He looked around, suddenly aware of his men around him and a clump of almost dead Protossian trees a click away. The roots of the odd trees were shriveled, because of the Creep sapping up the nutrients out of the soil. Clutching his gun, he motioned the rest of his squad to follow and began running, his thoughts running as well. What the hell was wrong? Why did this crap had to happen to him? Jesus, he had been on the damn planet for less than a goddamn hour, and now he was trapped.

He wanted to take the frustration out on the Spore colonies, but realized his own life was in danger as Zerglings began to approach. _Sonuvabitch, those suckers look nasty._

**Near Zerg Hive Cluster, Aiur**

Nacdle was sitting on a tree's limb when his falcon eyes, still blurringly sharp after the ocular implants, when he saw the triangle-formation of Zerglings approaching Jones' squad. The idiots had just stood there, looking at the crash like it was unbelievable. _So what?_ He thought. He had seen numerous crashes made by dropships before, some of them downed by a battlecruiser's batteries or by an antiaircraft gun. The five Zerglings were hardly a threat to the squadron of fifteen men, but they stared and ran from the approaching Zerg as if Death had come to grab them, like they didn't have anything to fight back with. The shock had already filtered through each marine's brains, enough to paralyze it from doing normal functions. He had seen better men before dying because all of their meticulous planning, all of the details picked out, all the scenarios run through wither as they realized that _one_ scenario hadn't been thought of. And they paid for it with their lives.

_Why can't these Terrans improvise like we can? _Mentally, he sighed. A few more months of pretending, and then he would be sent home. _And I would pray to all the gods to be sent home from this Sector. _

Shaking off his daydreaming, he motioned to his two sharpshooters. _Can't lose anymore men._

"Whack the Zerglings, boys?" His two privates nodded in the trees behind him, training their custom made scopes on top of their Impaler C-14s, waiting patiently. They, at least, had been disciplined, unlike the Sarians, as they scrambled wildly to the trees. And still, with all the mercenaries' experience with fighting Zerg, they despised men who fought only for money. Nacdle knew differently.

The lieutenant and four of his squadmen were the last to get out of the dropship unscathed, landing several kilometers from the crash site. His first instinct had been to immediately set up a rescue mission, but, like Jones, the absurdity of it struck him, trying to rescue one hundred men surrounded by hostile forces with only a third of a squadron. They had raced to the nearby trees, the only thing that could offer them protection against an attack or ambush.

Now, with nothing to do until Jones got here, Nacdle decided to file a complaint to Command.

_A big complaint,_ he thought. _This wasn't suppose to happen._

He set his comm. device frequency to headquarters. "HQ, this is Zulu-1 company, on positions H-5 and H-6; I've got a dropship down with numerous men still inside it. Repeat, dropship down. Should-" He listened to his ICD. He realized they weren't the only ones with their dropships crashing. Squadron commanders were screaming for air support so they could get the rest of their men off dropships, while others were trying to hold off Zerg on their positions, calling for reinforcements.

_HQ_ _has got enough on its mind for the present,_ he thought, switching off the comlink. He looked up in the skies, wondering where the air support was. They needed wraiths and those Protoss Scouts for hitting the Hive, and rescuing the men, where the hell were they?

The shrill scream of Zerglings being sniped by his men made him smile. _Payback_. He looked down below at the ten meter tall trees and saw members of the other squad frantically scrambling up the trees, their armor both a nuisance and a help. The newly issued CMC-400 armor did have some advantages, like better protection and more features than his squadron's armor, but mobility was a main problem. Nacdle's squadron were mercs who had modified armor, learned from experience fighting Zerg with the Feds and Dominion that agility was just as important as having heavy plates keeping the projectiles away. But Raynor's Raiders...he watched pitifully as one man's weight from his suit crack a branch of the tree, as he fell five meters, unhurt, but dazed.

"Lieutenant!"

"What is it, Jones?"

He turned around to see Jones looking at the dead Zerglings smoking their heads, dead from a few well-placed bullets.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Jones asked, still having trouble sitting on a tree branch, face frantic with worry.

For all his discipline, Jones, as Nacdle was concerned, was now a _rhydon_ cub looking for his mother. His men and him were veterans against the Dominion and Feds, not the Zerg. They knew nothing about fighting Zerg. It was Nacdle's turn to sneer, but his features were masked by his helmet visor.

"Screw the mission. Get the rest of the men out."

"Sounds good to me. How many squad members do you have with you?"

"Five, including me."

There was a long pause Nacdle told Jones how many men he had._ Twenty marines_, Jones thought._ Twenty marines a buttload of freaking Zerg! A hundred men still onboard. Son of a-_

"Let's go rescue everyone before it's too late," Nacdle said.

They jumped off the trees.

**On board crashed dropship _T-34_**

Chief Warrant Officer Patrick O'toole wasn't feeling quiet right. His head hurt like a mother, and his bones seemed to be aching in every possible way. Looking around, he saw most were unlucky as him: dirty, scared, and shitting their pants. He was the third squadron commander out of eight, and one of the six still stuck inside the ship, and like the other men, starting to feel death close upon them.

O'toole was about to exit while _T-34_ was still in the air when he realized the uneven, juking rate it descended onto the Creep, while he caught a glimpse of bizarre Zerg structure they were about to impact directly on.

While he wasn't partial on landing anything Zerg, the rubbery, flat structure was one of the reasons of the cushioned, soft landing the ship had made. But all this didn't matter for a squadmember. Being too eager to jump, and before O'toole could restrain him, he leapt off.

If O'toole had jumped..._well, I would end up like poor Pete over there, _he thought, trying not to puke on himself again. When the ship landed on the Creep, it's ruined hull and tail converged straight onto Pete, who just completed his first successful airborne drop.

O'toole looked at his own image. His blue armor was already reeking and covered his own blood and vomit. His suit was already messy, and he hadn't already shot a frickin' Zerg! His legs were firmly implanted in the dropship's ruined bulk, the armor crushed by the metal where the dropship had crashed in hard, denting the dropship's hull enough to get O'toole's legs stuck. Cursing, he tried to get himself out, but ended up staring into the dead man's eyes.

_Poor Pete,_ O'toole thought. _Poor Pete._ His brain repeated the phrase over and over, like a skipping recorder. It was driving O'toole insane.

The torso and head of his body were perfectly centered on the dropship hatch, demonstrating the skill the pilots of the ship had tried to level the impact-landing. The hatch was still opened, and the man's eyes were staring, signaling that he was dead. It was obvious, of course, but _then again, no one likes the obvious,_ O'toole said to himself. The rest of his body was covered by the ship's massive one-thousand ton bulk.

Another squadron commander, one he didn't know, spoke up, voice magnified a thousand times by the cramped conditions inside the ship.

"Alright men, we've getting out of here." O'toole watched as the man pointed out of the narrow opening on top of the ship, where Zerglings were prancing around, trying to pry the ship open. _It's only goddamn big enough to fit a goddamn rifle and a man's goddamn helmet. What the hell are they playing at? One man can't take on Zerglings with just a rifle halfway sticking out of the ship. The loading dock's sealed shut. What the hell are they playing at?_

Another marine, perhaps too eager to obey orders, or eager to leave the shithole they were in, leapt up and fired a few rounds. The Zerglings fell silent. The man grinned.

"Looks like I've scared them off!" he said, giving particular emphasis on "I"

He stuck his head and rifle in the small opening on top, firing again. A wild, overjoyed screech came, and then a scream. Short, but torturous. Men who were on the same frequency on the ICD had the sound magnified a thousand times in their head, of a man's visor getting ripped to shreds, and then the skin on the face, and then muscle, bone...

All the way into the brain.

Every man in the ship could hear the sound. And then silence, as the body fell back first, accompanied by a mutilated and decapitated spherical object. The last thing that dropped inside was the other half of the rifle.

A metal bore sawn by Zergling claw.

The same man that was saying a Hail Mary before the ship crashed was praying for deliverance.

A scratchy noise came from his ICD, static filled with a familiar sound: Jones' voice, calling for anyone on the ship.

No one bothered to answer. None of the one hundred odd men cared if twenty men could get them free. They never would, with the Zerglings climbing onto the ship. Everyone hunkered down, waiting to see what would happen to them, silently collecting their own thoughts.

But O'toole's mind splintered in half, as the throbbing grew worse. A side that had been calmed down by years of psychotherapy and medication was slowly beginning to take over. A side that was crazy and violent. Inside his helmet, O'toole grinned happily, as slowly the insanity took in, surging through his mind.

A shrill scream ran out, almost as the creatures on top knew they had found prey. _And that would be our most uninvited guests. _

**Above crashed dropship _T-34_**

CF/A-17G wraith pilot Captain Skip Ander was one of the few wraith fighters left to provide air support to the ground troops on the Creep. The rest of the ships, along with the Protoss Scouts, were racing up to the atmosphere of the planet, where a massive battle between Zerg and Protoss and Terran forces was underway.

The Zerg flyers turned out in more numbers than expected, with at least fifty thousand targets, according to HQ. Fifty thousand Mutas' and Scourge! Plus the Overlords that accompanied them for logistical support. Even the Terran Confederacy, the most powerful government in the Koprulu Sector, had only a fraction of that number. _Good thing we got those Scouts, Carriers, and battlecruisers with us,_ he thought. The fleet needed all the ships it could get to fight the Zerg.

He had wanted to go and fight with his squadron, but his commander refused. _Someone needs to stay here to cover the ground troops,_ he said. Ander shook his head. _Yeah right. I get to babysit these marines while you all get to have the fun,_ Ander retorted. His commander said nothing.

His squad, the Storks, were among the finest in his homeplanet of Umoja. They had been loaned to Raynor's Raiders by the Umoja Protectorate, who felt that Raynor could be both an ambassador to the Protoss and a friend to them. Umoja wanted an alliance and partnership with the Protoss, and since Jim was the man who led the best relations with the enigmatic race, they were inclined to help him.

_Yeah, right_. Jim cussed as much at the Protoss as he did with his own men, though the Protoss didn't understand him, as Ander looked over his cockpit window at the smoldering ruins of dropships and Zerg colonies.

Ander knew this plan was screwed from the beginning. It was just a badly-planned ambush all along, right from the start when he had been briefed on it. Land thousands of troops on the Zerg Overmind and its clusters was like trying to kill a hornet's nest with your hands.

The pilot did a panoramic view of the scene surrounding him, while frantically telling the communications officer on his comlink device to calm down.

"Hell HQ, cool off, will ya? One target at a time. What's the situation on the ground?"

"Forty-seven of the dropships have been shot down, that's the goddamn situation! I've got too many damn requests to get air cover on their position! All units are pinned down! We need more SARs missions. Pick a fucking target and go!"

Ander shut off his comlink. The man was going nuts! Then again, he had a right to be. A third of the dropships didn't get back to the fleet? He did some quick calculations in his head as he moved the control stick left and right, a habit that was hard to break. _One hundred and forty-four dropships; one hundred and twenty troops in each; Seventeen thousand, two hundred and eighty troops all fricking trapped on the ground!_

"Damn!" he shouted, making little echoes in his pressurized cockpit. His anger got the best of him. He put his bird into a steep dive, triggering his belly burst laser at a Sunken colony. Blood spewed up as bloody chunks of flesh flew into the air, making a smoldering wreckage of the building. He felt a slight shudder as two flak balls of biological mess hit the tail of his bird. Slowly he pulled up, not wanting to stall. _Too many targets eh? I trim them down for you._ A glint of metal suddenly caught Ander's eyes. _Is that what I think it is?_


	4. Chapter 3: Three, two, one

Chapter Three: Three...two...one...

**Position H-5, Zerg territory, Aiur**

Three kilometers. They were three kilometers from the crash site. Normally, on an ideal, flat plain with no physical barriers impending their progress, it would take twenty marines in fully outfitted armor twenty minutes to run three kilometers. On the Creep, however, with random Zerglings chasing after them..._maybe never, _Nacdle thought, as he led the pack.

When the Zulu had dropped down from the trees, Jones and his men suddenly realized what they were getting into in rescuing their fellow marines: three kilometers of unending Creep, with a maze of Spore colonies and other bizarre structures along the way. Every step they took could lead them into an ambush.

The Creep didn't just serve as nourishment for the structures that grew on it. It was a living organism, an organic computer that sent an unending flood of information to various "commanding" Zerg units every time an intruder took a step on it. This information was then processed and sent psionically to Zerg units within the enemy's position. It was like having a HQ that was omnipresent and knew the battle maneuvers as soon as their own troops did.

_So why the hell aren't they taking us out? _Nacdle wondered.

They had started running, straight towards the dropship, avoiding Sunken colonies by running around them, jogging by the Spore colonies they had been ordered to destroy. There was just not enough time to kill them, and they had no idea what repercussions it could lead to destroying one, since each was linked to another colony, and to the Cerebrates, which could instantly send reinforcements.

Nacdle was lost in his thoughts when he abruptly stopped running, leading to a curse by the marine behind him, who had rammed into the officer. He had just noticed a smoldering mass of flesh and blood, the remains of a Sunken colony. _That was very, very close. I wouldn't have seen that damn thing until the root was ripping my body apart,_ he thought. _But where-_

He looked up he heard a wraith's pegasus engines started to pick up speed, screaming like a banshee. It was heading directly toward the ruined form of the dropship. The tail was slightly damaged; sticky green gelatinous material was still stuck on it. _It must have killed it,_ Nacdle thought. _Now's the best chance of getting air support all day. _

"Frequency: Public," he said, switching his ICD. The device beeped once to confirm.

"Wraith 2-5, wraith 2-5," Nacdle said, reading the I.D. off of the Wraith's wing, "this is squad commander of Zulu-1. Requesting your assistance, over."

"Roge that, Zulu, this is Captain Ander. What's up?" The man's thick, twangy accent was cool and composed, like he was confident that nothing could kill him.

"You see that site of the crashed dropship, Captain?"

"I'm looking right at it."

"We're trying to rescue the squadrons inside it. We need some air coverage in case some things get too dicey. Can you loiter over us awhile?"

"Vector, locked-in. I copy that commander. I'll 'loiter' around here awhile. Say, you've got some Zerglings being toasted by your men."

"I copy." Nacdle looked to his right where the six Zerglings were exploding, being dropped by Jones' men. One of them, specialist Johnny Maxwell, held his squad heavy weapon to his hip and toasted a Zergling with dozens of hypersonic rounds from his big gun. The idiot almost looked liked he thought this was too easy. Dumbass!

"Stop fucking firing, it's already dead!" Nacdle shouted, lifting up his visor. He squinted, the Protossian sun taking a toll on his eyes.

Maxwell stopped, looking confused. "Just having some fun, sir." Nacdle took a look at the man. _Neural resocialization. No other way to explain the poor grunt._

_Only six?_ Nacdle was stunned as he looked at the insectoid-like creatures. If Zerg wanted to kill them, they could do it easily, why hadn't they killed them yet? Maybe Jones wasn't so much as an idiot as he thought. He and his squad had, after all, just killed six Zerglings. But why didn't they send more...There was something they didn't know about, something that the Zerg were planning or already doing. _Luck, that has to be it. They know we're not that big of a threat to them, so they don't want to kill us right away._ He paused, thinking about what he had just said. _A happy thought._

"Ok, we've got the air coverage we've been waiting for, boys. Two kilometers to the site, let's get moving!" Maybe with the wraith circling they could get there faster.

He turned back. "And don't waste your ammo!" he said, shooting a disgusted looked through his visor at Lieutenant Jones. Underneath the other man's shield, he knew Jones returned that look.

**Above positions H-5, H-6, Aiur**

Ander viewed the sky and checked his sensors, and, like Nacdle, wondered what was wrong. He had fought in previous battles with Zerg before, and they got downright pissed when one of their buildings was destroyed. _So why haven't they dropped some Scourge on my tailpipe? _he wondered. He knew blowing up that damn colony was dumb, but anger had triggered it, and he was waiting for the repercussions. Discipline was still lacking with new pilots out of the Citadel like him.

None had come.

He saw the stronghold, one of the massive Hives rising out of the ground. The spikes and odd shapes on it made it seem like it was an peculiar attraction at a carnival. A deadly one too. He reached the same conclusion Nacdle had: _They're waiting for something..._

He looked down, seeing the thin snake of men running towards their ground zero, some of the men looking haggard as they ran with their big combat suits on. It was making Ander jumpy if the Zerg didn't act with their usual force. _They're planning something big, and we won't know until they unleash the hell._

He checked his fuel gauge next. Half empty. Fuel shortages had cut down fuel allotted to starfighters, and most had gone without a full tank. He had a flight time of less than an hour, max. _Then off to the replenishment vessel, _Ander thought.

_It's going to be a long day._

**Position H-5, Zerg Territory, Aiur**

Two kilometers. The remnants of Zulu reached a strange growth, a massive bulk of a spore colony. But this one had two "heads" for shooting aircraft. _Genes must have been spliced the wrong way,_ Jones thought. His men were resting by the strange Zerg structure, listening to the thumping heart of an organic weapon.

Their armor had taken a toll on them. Running with fifty pounds of metal and plastic plus carrying twenty-five pounds of gear, not to mention each man's gun, was killing the Sarians. Against other Terran armies, Umoja's veterans needed the heavy CMC armor to stand up against spike bullets, but against mobile Zerg troops...Nacdle's veteran mercs ruled.

Nacdle's men had loose armor and modified guns were light as hell, to give them more flexibility and agility, so they stood guard, surveying the ruined Protoss landscape for any threat.

"We can't linger here, Lieutenant," Nacdle said, walking over to Jones. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Jones jumped as he suddenly heard the systematic spraying bullets made by a heavy gun, a _thump, thump, thump,_ as they turned their armored heads around. Maxwell, the same marine who had mutilated a Zergling and wasted his bullets, was laughing again and shooting his gun into backside of the Spore colony.

"Stop it, damnit!" Nacdle went over once again to discipline _his_ men, Jones thought.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Nacdle screamed. His face was full of a contorted rage.

"Just-just doing my job, sir. We were supposed to take out these things, and I'm wondering why ain't." Maxwell tried to look Nacdle in the eye, but refrained.

"You think you can kill one Spore colony with that toy of yours? And if you do, you don't think the Zerg are gonna come with everything they have and kill us? Goddamn stupid bastard! Watch!"

Nacdle swiftly grabbed a knife from a pocket on his armor and cut a neat hole in the flesh of the colony. He let the crimson blood drip, and then held up the knife. It began rusting immediately, as it was reduced to a mass of yellow metal. He threw it on the Creep with a face of disgust, turning to the Umojan squad as they looked on the ground, bewildered.

"This is what happens when goddamn idiots like you start hurting the thing. It's gonna fight back, and first thing it does is produces a corrosive venom in its blood. One goddamn spurt of blood gets on you, you won't have your armor to protect you anymore."

He looked for anyone to challenge him. Jones glared. A tense, lingering silence permeated the damp Aiuran air, as "A" squadron gathered around Jones, and the mercs of "B" gathered around Nacdle. The mercenary commander grimaced. Zulu's brittle cooperation between two different types of soldiers, patriots and mercs, was breaking down.

Nacdle's ICD crackled. "Lieutenant, my sensors show-" Nacdle heard a scream from his left, and a demonic growl.

"Hydralisks!" he shouted, "get cover, get cover!"

Nacdle turned around to see another of Jones' men screaming and shooting at two of the massive "Hydralisks," twisted, demonic animals from hell. The skeletal faces completed a thick, armored carapace fan on the tops of their heads, reminded Nacdle they were still fighting Zerg, after not seeing them for so long. An ominous death rattle came from the chests of the creatures. The long, snaky tail of the Hydralisks whisked from side to side, daring any man to come close.

The man who was screaming, Pvt. Jimmy Campbell, was standing only five feet away from the monsters, yelling and firing wildly in the air.

The Umojans lost any type of discipline, even after fighting holos of the beasts for weeks at basic training. Jones tried rally his troops while other Umojans ran or fired a wild stream of ammunition.

"Ashley! Smith! Cover the flank! Jones, get the hell away from that position!" Nacdle's voice drowned out the din of screams on the ICD.

The bullets that were being pumped out of Jones' and Nacdle's squad from behind the defective Spore colony bounced off the Hydras, strangely deflecting off the tough carapace. Campbell gurgled and went down as a Hydra opened its chest, firing the subsonic needles lined in its chest, one by one. One hit Campbell on the neck of his power suit, another on his breastplate. Another man yelled and dropped his gun from behind the colony as two needles protruded from his _rubass_ visor, designed specially to withstand an impact by absorbing rather than shattering. _Good thing it worked, else..._

"Nacdle, Nacdle! Get away from the fuckin' middle, you're in the line of fire!" Jones screamed through his comlink at Nacdle, who was so preoccupied in staring intently at the Zerg, that he didn't even notice that he was standing right between the marines and Hydralisks. His second brush of death. _What the hell am I doing here?_ He ran behind the twin-headed structure, looking at its strangeness; the organic weapon seemed to be beating like a heart, waiting for the Hydralisks to finish the job with the intruders.

Nacdle's mind clicked.

"Ok, Jones, get your men to distract the two Hydras, but don't let them come closer, damnit! Maxwell, aim for the chest, the chest!"

Nacdle twisted a frag grenade onto the grenade launcher of his modified C-14.

The two Hydralisks opened the chests again, making a wet _squishing_ noise as needles ejected off the lining of their chest cavities in their bodies. Nacdle fired. The grenade arced and thudded inside one of the Hydralisk's chest opening. It stopped firing, a surprised grin fixed on its Satanic face, beady eyes sunken with astonishment. The particular look was still fixed on its face as it blew up, chunks of fleshy chest showering the air as the head did a spin in the air and landed with a sickening _thud. _

"Jones! Get two men out there and get Campbell's body! Ashley, covering fire, everyone else, run the hell away from the Spore colony. Just go, go!"

The other Hydralisk look in surprised at the demise of his brother, giving Nacdle time to kill it.

Nacdle ran as a shower of bullets impacted the Hydralisk's dense, bony plate armor from Ashley's gun. Stopping in front of the bizarre structure, as he pulled a small contraption from a pouch on his CMC armor. The creature, suddenly confused with two targets, raised its scythes to decapitate Nacdle.

Nacdle inserted a "sticky" grenade right into the wound he cut into the Spore colony, dodging the blow without even looking at the Hydralisk in a easy, fluid motion. Ashley trigger finger slipped slightly from the trigger, as his shock filtered through his mind. _How the hell did he do that..._

Nacdle ran. _Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back..._

The grenade detonated after Nacdle had sprinted twenty-five meters. The colony blew up, creating a surprisingly small vicinity of debris as the heads of the organic weapon exploded, sending a fountain of stored biological flak from an artery that pumped it up like a giant heart. Liters of deadly acid went up...and went down, splashing on the Hydralisk.

Nacdle watched as it writhed in pain, clawing at its body and face with its own sickles, mutilating itself in a sickening display of violence.

Jones watched too, his face behind the hard faced armor. He had never felt so sick in his life. He was glad the visor hid his face.

Nacdle felt no sorrow or regret. It is had been a human, the violence would have sent chills up his spine, but this was an demonic animal trying to kill him, and the more it was mutilated, the better he felt.

**Aboard crashed dropship _T-34, _Position H-6**

Pfc. Rob Jonson looked at his chronometer in the dark, thanking God that his suit's night vision worked. 25:45:51. He had set his watch to the Aiuran day, six hours longer than Tarsonis Time, which was thirty hours. He was in the ruined bulk of the dropship, sitting in the corner as he heard the metallic scratching of claws of the Zergling on top.

He was the religious one, praying before his drop, and praying during the dizzying landing, and praying when it crashed. His ancestors had brought the religion from Earth, where it was banned, like most other things that promoted diversity in the human race.

They didn't have need to be diverse anymore, Jonson thought, since there were now two other species as advanced as them. To the Zerg and Protoss, they were only humans, not Sarians, Caucasians, or Christians. Species, race, and religion didn't matter to the nightmarish killers the Zerg were said to be, or to the strange Protoss.

Survival did.

He was part of O'toole's squadron, and he also watched as the dropship landed on his buddy, Pfc. Pete Black. Black wasn't that religious, but Jonson prayed for his soul. He prayed for his own soul too, knowing that he was going to die here.

Another part of him snorted and ridiculed what he was doing. _Maybe I sound too melodramatic, but death is death._

"Jonson! Jonson!" The voice of his squadron commander was filled with agony. "A little help here, Jonson? My legs are stuck. Aw, hell, don't worry about it. Just keep on praying." The green night vision in the visor had automatically switched to in the dark helped Jonson see O'toole, vomit and blood covering his armor, to the right of him. The armored legs of his commander's suit was caught in two ruptured steel ribs of the ship. O'toole was grinning at him in an crazy manner.

"You think we'll make it out of here alive, sir?"

"I don't know. Don't know. Don't know the answer to that goddamn question now. We're all going to rot and die here and then the Zerglin's will be chomping on our no-good carcasses! Do you think we'll make it out of here alive, boys?" O'toole yelled. With a look of disgust most men turned away from him, not wanting to think about the grisly deaths that were laying on the floor.

_My commander's gone crazy, _Jonson thought. _The world's gone crazy. Why the heck aren't we fight back? We can take on the Zerglings. _The shrill scream rang from outside the dropship once more, as dozens of Zerglings scratched on the hull. It silenced him. Death was waiting. Jonson slumped on the dropship's side, hoping their deliverance would come.

**Position H-6, Zerg Territory**

One kilometer. They had ran far and away from the stump of the Spore colony, fearing retaliation from more Zerg.

Surprisingly, there was only one casualty out of the twenty men. Corporal Andy Hawkins had two spines stuck in the visor his helmet, the green poison a few centimeters away from his eyes. Jones had delicately pulled them out. Pvt. Jimmy Campbell was poisoned in the chest and neck by the needles, which punctured and broke his skin.

"Could've been a lot worse, commander," medical corpsman Jan "J.J." Jast said. He neatly undid the helmet and upper armor on Campbell as he laid on the Creep. His eyes were closed, breathing rapid, and nose and mouth bleeding. "If the spines had punctured right straight through the armo', it would've kilt him instantly."

"Can you do anything else for him, JJ?" Jones asked.

"No sir, my antidotes and equipment was on that dang dropship. We was gonna drop it until it was crashing. Then we just jumped." Jast pulled out the portable stretcher on his back and then strapped on his gun to his armor. "I'm gonna get him on here."

"We gotta get to the ship soon. I don't want any of my men dead." Nacdle turned around to see Jones looking at him through the visor. That tense voice was still there.

"Let's go then."

They sprinted the last kilometer. Jones and Nacdle lead the pack, followed closely by Jast and Hawkins, who were carrying the now unconscious Campbell. They were followed by fifteen sweating men, running like invisible Zerg were chasing them all the way back to their home. Night was beginning to show its tones, first, as an unusually red sun drooped lower from the Aiuran landscape. The dark nights of Aiur were coming. And with the night Zerg would emerge.

"Nacdle?" The lieutenant's ICD crackled again, as they reached ground zero.

"This is Ander. I've gotta get out of here immediately, before my bird runs out of fuel. Your ETA is 'bout three minutes. No Zerg in sight, except on the dropship. You guys can handle those. Have a happy trip."

"Thanks, Ander. I'll be seeing you later." Nacdle wondered how true that would be.

Now they could definitely see the dropship. It had landed flat; flat was significant. It meant that men could still be in there, alive and unhurt. But a parade of Zerglings was on the ship, digging into the metal frame like a dog trying to bury a bone. The cockpit of the dropship was at an odd angle, like it had hit the ground first. _It almost looks like the dropship landed on something..._Jones thought. The bottom of the ship was centimeters off the ground on one end, and the tail jutted out in the air, ruined.

They were now approximately two hundred meters from the wreck. Jones and Nacdle, along with the mercenary Pfc. Jack Smith stood there, watching the Zerglings claw the ship.

"Shit, let's go kill those damn things," Smith shouted. Smith inhaled deeply, and Nacdle turned his receptors lower, feeling the waves of adrenaline pumping through the other man. _The kid's taking a shot of stim! _

"Yeah, that's it. Nothing like a good stim."

Nacdle nodded. "They haven't spotted us yet. Jast, Hawkins, stay at the rear. Smith cover the left flank, you'll slowly circle them. Jones..."

"We'll kill them. There's not much need for tactics here when we have a few Zerglings to deal with," Jones said. Nacdle imagined the sneer forming behind that helmet, and then nodded. "Suit yourself."

They began running, followed by more men, guns at the ready, wanting to wreak bloody havoc at the Zerg. Jast and Hawkins put their patient gently on the ground, hoping they could help Campbell survive, as they tried to soothe the man. Smith, the stimed marine, ran too fast to cover the flank, eager to kill.

The dropship unexpectedly moved.

Smith never even had time to blink. The dropship miraculously lifted itself a few meters off the ground, but Nacdle could see a tongue-like organ, sharpened to a deadly point, lifting the ship up. The tongue went up...and down, burrowing into the ground. And the tip came up again, right into the face of Smith, lopping off his head neatly from the rest of his body. Nacdle watched, for the first time in horror, as Smith's decapitated body stood there, wobbling a few seconds, and then toppled like a bunch of dominoes.

"Get out! Get out of the range!" Jones screamed as he grabbed Nacdle by the arm and dragged him back to the wounded marine on the stretcher. The other men began running as well, as Nacdle still looked back in surprise at one of his men's bodies. The tongue burrowed again, but hit nothing as it came up.

They sat down on the Creep as they breathed, out of breath, inhaling the oxygen-nitrogen mixture of Aiur, out of range from the root's deadly grasp. Jast looked at Jones in surprise and smiled. He had been too busy treating Campbell to even look up at the ship.

"Something wrong, sir?"

Jones looked at him with disbelief.

"Didn't you see? There's a fucking Sunken colony right under the dropship."


	5. Chapter 4: The Shadow Hunters

Chapter Four: The Shadow Hunters

Nacdle and Ander had good reasons for being suspicious why the Zerg weren't attacking with their usual force.

Protoss Observer robotic aircraft and Terran scouting science vessels began photomapping the Zerg clusters and territory long before the battle had begun. The slow moving, invisible drones silently mapped the massive area the Zerg broods covered, draining the greenery out of Aiur and replacing it with bright colored patches of Creep.

Headquarters, based on three battlecruisers, the _Behemoth-class_ ships _Hyperion _and _Death's Head_ and the _Victory_-class battlecruiser _Invincible_, as well as three Protoss carriers, were continually fed a stream of data on the Zerg broods on Aiur. What war planners, of both Protoss and Terran origin, began to see as intelligence streamed in was startling.

The Overmind, with its command wing, the crimson Tiamat brood, was nestled in the center of a Protossian valley, north of the Scion province. In the center laid the Overmind, with hundreds of thousands of minions and bizarre structures surrounding it. Surrounding _that_ was four primary Zerg broods, purple Jormungand, white Baelrog, green Fenris, and brown Grendal. Each brood's different colored buildings surrounded the Overmind and protected the Cerebrates, forming a large, surreal rainbow colored territory from a bird's eye view.

Each Cerebrate controlled their respective broods doing various functions; the Cerebrates were the "generals" the Overmind relied on and controlled. The Cerebrates were also protecting the entity with legions of their shock troops. Before the battle, most Zerg units were scattered, protecting various structures and burrowing underground. The whole Zerg Creep covered an area fifty kilometers in diameter, forming a massive circle on Aiur. But now...

More Observers had been sent out an hour after the battle started, when Nacdle and Jones were running to save their men. And when Terran and Protoss war planners looked at both completed photomap displays of the area they were attacking (before and after), they were even more shocked: virtually all Zerg units had suddenly disappeared from their positions, and instead formed an one kilometer "no man's land" protecting the four Cerebrates. In this massive circular zone, Overlords patrolled the air and ground for intruders, and the ground was infested with Zerg, millions packed in a strip of land to protect from intruders. The Overmind had moved the bulk of its forces from an attacking stance to a defensive mode, defending both itself and its Cerebrates. Sensors on both the Observers and science vessels detected massive amounts of biomass around the vicinity of the Cerebrates, bristling with organic born killers.

Raynor and Tassadar were shocked at this new information. It seemed to them that the Overmind had read their minds, and the whole strategy they had laid out was on the brink of failing.

Ever since the Zerg infringement of Terran and Protoss borders, both Terran scientists and Protoss Khalai _Iszos_, "researchers," had noted Cerebrates, were, for the most part, lesser Overminds, controlling a specific brood. They also noted, when the Dark Templar Zeratul had killed a Cerebrate, all Zerg in that particular brood ceased to function; they either stopped or went wild. The Overmind and the rest of the Cerebrates went into a state of shock, unable to do anything, much less coordinate an attack against the intruders, taking hours to recover and direct broods. The Cerebrate that Zeratul killed had its warriors spread out on different planets, and the death of it caused all to cease functioning, making these troops easy targets for Terran and Protoss warriors.

After this theory had been presented to Tassadar and his Templar, the Fallen Ones, as well as Raynor and his senior officers, they realized the importance of killing the four Cerebrates on Aiur. If even one of the Cerebrates was successfully eradicated, the shock would carry through the whole brood, allowing for the eradication of more Cerebrates and Zerg, instead of waging a massive war of attrition against the beasts.

In the end, the "covert and clandestine" mission that Raynor and Tassadar had planned was not the dropping of thousands of foot troops on the ground, it was landing teams of two Ghost Espionage Agents and three Dark Templar (code-named 'Tango') to each of the Zerg Cerebrate location, letting one or more teams to sneak in and kill a Cerebrate as the marines and Zealots took the brunt of the attack from defending Zerg. These "Tango" teams would kill one Cerebrate, carrying shock through the Overmind and other Cerebrates, letting the other Templar kill other Cerebrates, and allowing the marines and ships to massacre Zerg.

It seemed, however, the Overmind, however, aware of the danger posed to the Cerebrates, and had assigned each one to move the bulk of its legions to protect each one. They would stay there, while small bands of Zerg would harass units, and wait until night to launch a massive attack to wipe ground resistance, while the fleet in the air would be eradicated with Swarm's flyers.

And the Overmind's plan was working.

The plan was something Raynor was regretting now, as he was given reports on the damage the infantry was taking on the _Hyperion_. Hundreds dead, dozens of dropships destroyed. They were bait being slaughtered, and no one knew about the other plan. He watched the Aiuran sun let its grasp slip from the raging planet, cursed himself softly, and then sauntered off. The sun was being enveloped by the wings of thousands of Zerg flyers. More death was near.

The grief would have to wait as night crept closer.

**Near Zerg Cerebrate Araq of the Jormungand Brood**

_Everything has gone wrong, even before we landed..._Ghost Agent Ethan McAllen thought, as he knelt on the ground, a long distance from the Cerebrate designated for assassination, looking at the remains of the fellow Agent he was working with. It seemed like the Overmind had read their minds and strategies, and cunningly had retreated most of the Zerg units in the "no man's land" zone. The Dark Templar and him would not be able to kill the Cerebrate now. Even more distressing was the sudden attack on the fleets above Aiur. Thousands of Zerg flyers were being launched continuously to eliminate the Terran and Protossian fleets, filling the skies with those goddamn insects, McAllen thought.

After dropping from a ship one kilometer from the purple Zerg Cerebrate of the Jormungand Brood, called Araq, he saw a massive formation of Spore colonies and Sunken colonies, Overlords patrolling above the Cerebrate, and through his new "groundhog" detector embedded in his MECH-OP, his right eye, he could see a mass of Zerg burrowed in the Creep. They were unable to penetrate the Cerebrate's zone to kill it.

The marines that landed also faced a problem: most of the Zerg had disappeared, and after destroying any Zerg structures and troops in their vicinity, they waited for their next orders, unable to cross the "no man's land." Many were simply were waiting and defending their positions, unaware of what would happen...

He had contacted other Tango teams that shadowed the other three Cerebrates and they had encountered the same problem. Many of them waited in the cover of dead Protoss trees, outside the Cerebrate's zone of defense, unable to do anything. It was frustrating, how cunning a bloated slug could be. This was a big, unmovable, goddamn insect they were trying to kill! And they couldn't even touch the thing.

McAllen felt vomit coming up his throat as he turn over his dead comrade's body, too mauled to be even recognizable. Remains of his last meal came up, and he spat, trying to get the taste out.

The dead Ghost had landed first, but two Zerglings had pounced on him as he was trying to get his cloaking device to work. He had finally gotten to work, but in a cruel, ironic way, as his last movement before he died was flicking the cloaking device on. _Luck wasn't on his side. Luck isn't on any of our sides. _

McAllen and the Templar had landed after him, searching for the remains. It wasn't found until one of the Dark Templar almost tripped over it. McAllen sighed, looking at the Dark Templar to his right, in a clump of nutrient deprived trees that hid their team well.

The wind rustled, as the Aiuran dusk looked beautiful through the eyes of one who had never been there. Aragas, had a black veil, a _cholas,_ "killing veil," covering the lower portion of his mouth, and his burning coal eyes looked at the Aiuran dusk; he had only heard about this phenomenon his ancestors, and had never seen. Until now. It felt good to be in the land of his forefathers, the land they had been forcibly ejected from. Shakuras did not have such beautiful sunsets.

He was part of the group known as _Jashas,_ or "Shadow Hunters." It was an appropriate term. The Protoss were born to hunt, to kill their enemies. The psionic force that the Dark Templars embraced from the cold void of space made them invisible to enemies, and he wondered how odd it would seem to hear the wind rustle his cloak and not see it. He stood away from the Ghost, who was still looking at his dead comrades body with a look of disgust and anger.

Aragas was ready to kill. But he could not, as he looked at the massive formations of Zerg, and the Overmind, still miles away, was visible, like a monument mocking him to come closer. He wished he could, come and meet it head-on, but his mission was too important. He sent a thought the Zami, one of the other Dark Templar on the team.

_By the gods, what do we do now?_

_Our mission, _Zami responded.

_The other teams have met the same trouble we have. They are sitting at the edge of the formation, unable to do anything. And the Terran warriors on the ground have met their fate...they are going to be annihilated. And I sense...I sense the Zerg are massing. After the Moon rises, they will attack with force we have never seen. _Aragas' thoughts troubled him.

_They are already intent on wiping out the Terran and Protoss spacefleets in the air, _Zami noted, with little emotion.

The younger Protoss gave only a question.

_Do you think we will die, Zami?_

Zami gave no reply. He was older and wiser, sixty-eight cycles old, seven hundred years by the Terran's reckoning. Aragas was young by Protoss standards, only a mere twenty-five _junos_, cycles, in Protoss years, and two-hundred and fifty-seven in human.

But Zami did not answer. For death, there was no answer.

"You still with me, Aragas?" McAllen walked over to the invisible Dark Templar, seeing him through his detector. He was relatively young by Ghost standards, twenty-five while most Ghosts were in their mid-thirties. He did not possess the legendary raspy, snake-like voice Ghosts were famous for, but instead sounded normal, without an accent, a trait of the upper-class he was raised in, at his homeworld of Umoja. Confederate Ghosts were trained the same way they were depicted on holomovies. Not true for Umojan Ghosts, McAllen thought.

Aragas nodded to the young human. The Protoss were implanted with a special circuit in their ear, a tiny hole on the left side of their head. Through it, the chip translated a variety of different languages, including the _homo sapiens _basic language, English. It also provided psionically translated thoughts in the Terran tongue.

"Well, have any plans? I've got two nuclear bombs ready to launch and enough testosterone to just march in there and kill all the Zerg on my own." McAllen smiled, but the Protoss looked grim. Not that they could smile...

For the hundredth time, Aragas did not see the humor in his words. He remembered sitting in one of the cold, dark, Terran dropships, as the Ghost intently looking at him, trying to shield his thoughts while giving the young Protoss an overtly curious look. McAllen's first question when he had met him was if Protoss had a sense of humor.

_Yes,_ he told the young human, _in our own way, without mouths. _The Ghost's grin cracked his face. Aragas had stared in horror for the longest time, just like he stared in horror at him now.

_Nuclear bombs!_ he thought, shielding his thoughts from his fellow Templar and psionically gifted human. He had seen the Terran fight before, and they could kill Protoss with relative ease. But one of their nukes could do even more damage. Each Tango team had been given command of two _Atlas _nukes, small, interplanetary bombs, which were not as dangerous as the ones that razed the Terran planet Korhal IV, as McAllen had said. To wipe out an entire planet's civilization was unthinkable to the Protossian warrior. But, he remembered, the Templar Tassadar had regretfully wiped out many planets the Terrans inhabited. _But to wipe out their own people with these devices..._

The nukes were only necessary is they met massed, clustered resistance, which they were meeting now. The problem was actually finding the right place to fire off a nuclear bomb; the Overlords overhead could immediately sense a cloaked Ghost, and the Ghost's C-10 gun, which was used to direct the missile, had a range of only one hundred meters, while the sensors on the Overlords had a one hundred and fifty meter range. There was no way of launching one without getting mauled by Zerg; but it was vital to clear the zone of all Zerg, providing the clearance for the Templar to kill the Cerebrate.

_We need a way to launch a nuke without me getting killed, so we can blast all the Zerg in this area..._McAllen thought. He too, had learned to shield his thoughts from the Templar, being as psionically capable as they were. They could read minds on those who had no mental shield, providing an unthinkable advantage.

McAllen's thoughts were interrupted by a distress signal from his ICD. "Calling any units," a calm, subdued voice said. "This is first lieutenant Bo Nacdle. We've got a dropship down with men still inside it. Attempting a rescue, but we need more men. All available units, please come..." From the background McAllen could hear the cries of a wounded marine screaming in agony. "Our coordinates are H-6, with company Zulu-1."

McAllen's MECH-OP immediately changed into a 3-D map in front of him, invisible to anyone but him. It was a useful thing, even though his real eye had to be taken out for the artificial one.. _H-6_.._.that's pretty close to here._ He had a weird feeling that the lieutenant that had just called in was something more than his name suggested...McAllen was suddenly attracted to go there, _almost like a Zerg is attracted to a Psi-emitter._

He threw his gun on his back and started to run. Aragas stopped him.

_Where are you going?_

"To a crash site. There's still some men stuck inside a dropship."

_Our mission is too important to worry about that. You cannot go._

"Look man, there's something there that I feel is gonna help blow up that goddamn Cerebrate. It's just that gut-feeling, ok? Night on this planet is coming, and when night comes Zerg are gonna launch a counterattack. Now, are you going to get that hand of yours off my shoulders or what?"

For a moment they stood there, the Ghost, only three-quarters as tall as the Templar, staring up him with the weirdly shaped electronic goggles shielding his piercing gaze. Aragas slipped his hand off of the human's shoulder.

_Of course. You are doing this to save your comrades. I understand. I will be here when you return. Do not tarry. You are right about night coming. They will come._

"Thanks." McAllen began running. He checked his chronometer as the sun disappeared on the horizon. 28:28:55. _Two more hours of sunlight. They'll be attacking when it's dark. _

**Headquarters aboard _Behemoth-_class battlecruiser _Hyperion_**

Strategists at HQ had begun discerning what the Dark Templar, McAllen, Ander, and Nacdle had thought on why the Zerg weren't attacking:

First, they were bent on defending the Cerebrates and had allocated the bulk of their troops to the circular zone of defense. If even one Cerebrate was killed under blades of Dark Templar, all Zerg would run amok.

Second, they were also planning a major assault on marines and firebats entrenched on the perimeter of the zone. They had already intensified the space battle between Terran/Protoss fleets, and were preparing the final drive against resistance.

A strategical officer on the _Hyperion_ looked through the porthole of the ship, below the carnage, at the planet. The Protossian sun's rays were stretching out in a final attempt to ward off the dark on the Zerg infested side of the planet, but slowly, the darkness was covering the planet. He pulled out a cigarette, even though rules regulated a strict "no-smoking" policy. His nerves were shot. _The calm before the storm.._.

**Moving towards Company Zulu-1**

Corporal Willie "Gee" Hancock was proud of his company, Yankee-1, accomplishments. His bats of one hundred and twenty had successfully landed on Aiur outside the fifty-kilometer limit of Zerg, established and cleared a zone, flaming all the Zerg structures inside of the perimeter, suffering minor casualties. The company waited for Zulu-1 to link up with them, but no troops came.

Now, they had also heard the distress call from Zulu-1, and had decided to join the rescue.

Two units were all converging on Zulu-1's dropship crash site. From the east, Hancock's company was running through the dense foliage of virgin Protossian jungle to Z-1. West, McAllen was sprinting around the Cerebrate's defense zone, to Nacdle. Zulu-1 was outside of the zone, on the fringes, with still an infestation of Zerg buildings surrounding them.

"Fire it up, boys," Hancock said to his squadron. They responded, roaring the company slogan.

"And flame up the rest!"

Rescue was finally coming for the men of Company Zulu.


	6. Chapter 5: In the Thick of it

Chapter Five: In the Thick of It

_"I really have to go...number one."_

Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation and Battlecruiser commander, Starcraft

**Aboard the _Gantrithor_, low orbit over Aiur**

_Nas'tal_, "Injured fighter," Shelik was aboard the massive vessel, _Gantrithor,_ Protector of Aiur, strength of the Conclave, and Explorer of Afar, the grandest of all vessels Khalai craftsman had built. The glowing yellow craft was radiant in the center of the formation, the new flagship of the Homefleet, with dozens of speedy Interceptors surrounding it like bees buzzing from a hive. Unlike her predecessors, the _Gantrithor _was designed to hold seventy-two fighter-drones, while older versions held only forty-eight.

Shelik was once a Scout pilot, one of the best of his squadron, No.2, who accompanied Executor Tassadar and his famous Expeditionary Fleet in exploring the Terran Koprulu Sector.

He had remembered well the day of his death, and his reincarnation. He was in the thick of it, Scourges plaguing the _Gantrithor_ and other carriers like flies on dead bodies above a Terran Space Platform. He pummeled a formation of Scourge, blasting them with his missiles; but another formation snuck up onto his Scout, tearing up his fighter, along with his left arm and right leg. His last impression was the confused sense of satisfaction and surprise, but no pain. _Pain is the last thing to worry about...duty is first._

He awakened in a statis cell, body gone. His head lay there, in the thick fluid that surrounded him, giving him life, and a new soul. Khala crafts people had attached artificial body parts after his reincarnation was complete. Khalai scriptures showed life could be reincarnated, since the Protoss had been not evolved, but had been created by another race. And over the millennias, the Firstborn had developed ways to bring back their dead if their body could be recovered. The resurrected Protoss had a new soul entering in the dead Protossian body, providing it with a guiding spirit.

Shelik took his reincarnation as another chance to serve his homeworld, and volunteered to be a "guider," a veteran Protoss pilots who had been reincarnated to guide Interceptor drones in battle. Although the drones were partly computer guided, _Izos_ had found out that Protoss were much better at controlling drones than computers.

In the fighter control room aboard _Gantrithor_, rows and rows of Protossian computers, manned by _Nas'tal_ like Shelik, were controlling drones. Through an eyepiece, he could see the Interceptor's point of view, as it buzzed around in space, looking for a target. It was remarkable what the drones were capable of, making up for their relatively low powered energy shots with incredible maneuverability. It was faster than a Mutalisk and equaled a Scourge in flight, though it was limited to a perimeter around its mother carrier, thus limiting its effectiveness.

Shelik used an control stick strapped onto his arm to control the fighter's movements, juking around and around in the dark of space. A Scourge chased it for an target before giving up. Shelik turned his tiny drone around and spit wads of energy into it, exploding its body before it could do any harm.

Commander James Raynor, the human, had described the room as "comical" to Tassadar, because it looked as if the Protoss in the room were swatting flies with their hand, as their control sticks moving in odd angles. Shelik did not find if funny, though he looked in horror at the Terran, who had a moving part below his nose. Raynor had called it his "mouth" as sounds came out of it.

Shelik slowed his drone and pushed a button on the strapped-on machine, firing darts of energy at his target, a Mutalisk. Bits of flesh and carapace exploded off the Mutalisk, as the drone juked out of range of the symboite that the Mutalisk launched. Another drone launched its laser, and blasted the Zerg flyer out of sight, flesh exploding in random directions, pushed by the vacuum of space.

_Nice shot, Amees,_ Shelik said, to the female Protoss "guider" sitting next to him.

_Thanks._

Shelik mentally sighed, looking at the bio-matter sensor screen on his computer. Blue were allied ships and fighters, green were Protossian, and red, purple, white, green, and brown were Zerg identified by brood. The space above Aiur was getting crowded._ It looks like a gathering of different tribes on Aiur_, Shelik thought. He was a member of the Auriga tribe, of the Templar caste, the first Protoss ever to launch sailing vessels on Aiur's seas and space fleets in the galaxy. But now...he was just another Protoss waiting to be massacred by the Zerg.

_Only if the Overmind dies, I will die._

**Aboard the _Hyperion_, low orbit over Aiur**

The same strategical officer who nervously smoked a cigarette was now frantically looking at a huge display screen in the command room of the _Hyperion._ STO Jamie Walker was fairly new to the art of war, and had found organization his best job in a battle. His assignment aboard the _Hyperion,_ the command ship, was simple: organize troops, and deal with strategic conditions as the battle unfolds.

_It's really unfolding on my ass right now,_ he thought, looking at the holodisplay. Like Protoss ships, the _Hyperion _carried specialized equipment that tracked every ship and Zerg to a play-by-play account of the battle, and labeled them different colors; it displayed capital ships, fighters, Zerg, and other space junk on screen, showing where they were to a one-minute accuracy. The battle was getting out of hand on the screen, as Allied ships disappeared and Zerg took the place of their blasted brethren at a faster rate than the ships could kill them.

In a massive diamond shaped formation, forty-four _Victory-_class, _Behemoth_-class, and _Leviathan-_class battlecruisers formed the outline of a rhombus, while sixty carriers, salvaged out of the Protoss Homefleet, First, Second and Third fleets, as well as the Expeditionary fleet, were in the center, protected by the escorts of battlecruisers. They were all that was left of the mighty Protossian ships that safeguarded their homeland. Massive amounts of red were engulfing the sides of the diamond formation, trying to breach it in several places. A swarm of green and blue remained outside the formation; the Wraiths and Protoss Scouts that were used as another line of defense to protect the capital ships. Inside the formation, a "no Zerg" zone had been established; Zerg that had gotten into this zone would be instantly killed, given a first priority target by laser batteries.

In all, at least one hundred and fifty major capital ships were engaged in space, with another two thousand starfighters forming a thinning protective shield. The Zerg had mustered a force of fifty thousand to engage this, excluding Overlords. It meant, Walker had calculated, each pilot had to kill at least ten Zerg excluding Overlords to match one loss of a starfighter. The odds first looked good for the Terran and Protoss fleet. He remembered that the Confederacy had to achieve an impossible ratio of twenty to one during its fall on Tarsonis, and the Confederate Fighter Command had almost five thousand available starfighters. But the Zerg had brought with them three hundred thousand flyers.

But now, Walker could see the gaps of the formation appearing, as repair ships full of SCVs frantically worked to repair damaged 'crusiers and fighters. Two of the remaining four Arbiters were the point-guards in the battle, stationed at the tips of the formation, projecting their gravity-manipulating devices to make ships invisible, not that it mattered as Overlords floated everywhere.

Walker chomped on his cigar and then noticed a bend in the formation. A _Leviathan_-class battlecruiser, the _Abyss_, was slowly giving way, as a mountain of Zerg flyers surrounded it, breaching the position. _Holy-_

"Walker, what's going on?" Raynor looked intently with his unibrow expression, peering at Walker with an aggravated, caffeine induced aggression.

The officer gave a quick salute. "They're all over us sir, there are just too many of them. I didn't expect them to launch any more flyers after we let them chase us out here, but they're not stopping. It looks like they're going to be here until we're all fucking dead. Excuse me sir."

Raynor sighed, rubbing his temples. _Six or seven hours into the battle, and we haven't done shit yet to win this. Everything's going wrong. The troops on the ground are going to get slaughtered in the night, the Tango teams can't do crap about it, we're going to die, my gosh, how could it come to this?_

Walker could see his commander was under intense pressure. "Uh, no offense sir, but I think you need a bathroom break. I've seen you have way too much Khaf this morning-er-evening."

"You're right, man. I really need to go...number-What the hell is that?"

Raynor pointed to the holo-screen. Walker turned around. The battlecruiser that was under a mountain of Zerg had disappeared.

Twenty feet away, communications officer Jacqueline Andersen watched the formation from the control room of the _Hyperion, _as it began breaking up.

Andersen watched closely at the holoscreen. One of the _Leviathan_-class battlecruisers had suddenly disappeared from the screen. _Oh god, they've broken through. _Immediately, a wave of calls came in from other ships, reporting the death of a battlecruiser.

**Low orbit over Aiur**

Captain Hal Jansen was the squadron leader of the Storks, 141st air squadron; they were based on the battlecruiser _Abyss._ His wingmate, Lieutenant Molly Jonstone flew behind him, checking her sensors for an immediate threat. _"Immediate" is a key word, right now, _he thought. There were thousands of targets, but none of them "immediate."

"Anything on my wings, ace?"

"No sir, nothing at all."

He was at the edge of the giant "bubble" zone, protecting the massive Protoss and Terran warships from the deluge of red, white, green, brown, and purple colored Zerg flyers. He turned to look at the warship he was protecting, watching as Mutalisk flew in all directions, juking out of the way of lasers batteries and spitting acid on the ship's armor. One last shot of acid, and then the ship began to break apart.

The engines were suddenly lit into a massive inferno, spreading through the ship, taking protective NeoSteel armor and metal and everything else with it. The firestorm disappeared, leaving in its wake a fiery inferno of a ship, more than half of it burnt to a crisp. _So many men..._ More Zerg streamed in to the breach, 'lisks followed by Scourge and Overlords, as the shockwave of the exploding ship sent his little fighter tumbling around.

Stabilizing his Wraith, he thumbed his comms. device to another frequency.

"_Invincible,_ we have a battlecruiser exploding, I repeat, we have a battlecruiser going down. Send as many reinforcements as you can, over."

A babble of voices were also reporting the ship's rapid deterioration. Frantic voices calling for God and Protoss to save them, others just screaming excitedly, and so on. _Son of a gun..._"Molly, we're going in that hell-hole. No way are we letting Zerg into our zone. We'll kill them first." He thrusted his Wraith forward, activating his depleted cloaking energy.

The rest of the Storks followed.

Ander, the Stork member who had helped Nacdle find the dropship, was rapidly heading into the formation of ships, trying to conserve his last remains of fuel as he searched for a replenishment vessel. The Zerg had largely ignored him, seeing juicer targets in the battlecruisers and carriers. When he broke free of Aiur's gravity, he could see a continual stream of Zerg flyers coming to the fleet of ships, a bloodthirsty intensity on their devilish faces. And then he saw the fleets, dozens of massive capital ships under the pressure of thousands of Zerg, and overwhelming fighter squadrons. _I'm in the thick of it now..._

His comms. device crackled. "Ander, that you? Get your ass over here, we're by the gap in the battlecruisers, and goddamn Zerg are all over the place!"

"Sir?" Ander said, surprised. He had also seen the battlecruiser get blasted by Scourge from the engine section, the most vulnerable part of any ship. Now they were streamingin like children in a mad rush for candy, trying to get to the carriers.

"Sir, I can't get to you right now, my bird's got almost no fuel left. Let me find one and I'll be there, sir,"

"I copy." Behind the Cap's words, Ander could hear his commander's Gemini missiles finding a target, and a sudden scream of a vanquished Mutalisk.

"I need a replenishment vessel right now!" Ander screamed, flicking into a public frequency.

"Calm down, Wraith S2-5, we're coming."

Ander smoothly slid between the cracks of two 'cruisers, and entered the protective bubble the ships were supposed to give to support vessels and Protoss carriers. A _R-92_ type fuel vessel, loaded down with gas, was coming towards him, a long, narrow bullet-like ship with an "arm," a suction device to connect to a Wraith's or battlecruiser's fuel tanks.

The "arm" grasped the fighter like one of those animal specials Ander had seen on holovision, like a mating ritual. _Sick..._he thought. It began to fuel his bird. _Zerg are going to be flying back to their daddy after I'm through with them..._

**Aboard the _Hyperion_**

STO Walker muttered profanities under his breath as the battle hologram map on the _Hyperion_ gave him a confusing sense of what belonged where. In one moment, the HQ battlecruiser _Invincible_ was labeled with a red "Inactive" status, meaning it had been evacuated, and another moment, it was gone, signaling it was destroyed, and then it was back to normal again, fighting to close the gap in the formation.

Walker squinted his eyes at the hammer shaped hologram of the 'cruiser, as it flickered off and on. _Damn Overlords..._ he thought.

He knew why the screen was confusing: Overlords had begun clustering and jamming the _Hyperion_'s signals to other ships, disrupting communications and tactics.

"Commander!" Walker shouted, as crewmembers were busy watching the various screens. A blast shook the ship, rocking the ground under Walker's feet, and medics raced past him to carry off the latest casualties to the medical bay. A gunnery officer directed his men to fire on the aft of the ship, as the battlecruiser blasted Zerg. The intensity inside the ship surprised Walker. He wasn't the only one under pressure. _As shown remarkably well on my commander's face..._Walker thought, as he looked at Raynor.

"Yeah?" Raynor walked over, looking at the screen, as he pulled out a cigarette with a trembling hand.

"Sir, they're jamming us. The Overlords are using their psionic brains to jam our signals and electronics; we can't communicate very well with ships and troops.

"Damnit! Are the ground troops affected by this?"

"Yessir."

**On Zerg territory, position H-6**

At this moment, Ghost Agent McAllen was running towards Zulu as he frantically tried to figure out what was wrong with his ICD. It didn't patch through with the _Hyperion_, and he wanted to talk to Raynor about a change of plans concerning the Cerebrates. But the device sent out a warbled signal and died. _Damn, _

_damn, damn..._

**Aboard the**_ **Hyperion**_

At the aft of the ship Scourge activated the chemical agents in their bodies, and slammed into one of the four Gargantuan engines of the ship, exploding it.

Fire-dropper teams, specifically trained for dealing with ship-fires, snaked a long hose to the damaged section of the ship, as SCVs frantically repaired the damage.

On the bridge, Raynor bit his lips as he helped Walker up on his feet. The _Hyperion_ could run on two out of the four engines, but it reduced the maneuverability to deal with Scourge that plagued it. Besides the damage to the _Hyperion_, the _Death's Head_, another important HQ ship, was also badly damaged and couldn't communicate with ground troops on Aiur.

_Hyperion _filled the airless space with hot lasers, from ATA and ATS gun batteries from the "wings" of the ship. Battlecruisers nearby _Hyperion _emitted a continual steam of hot light, tearing into Zerg like scissors cutting paper. Zerg Mutalisks exploded, carapace doing nothing to help slow the damage. But the ships were being deluged with the flyers.

"How much longer 'till that Yamoto cannon is recharged?" Raynor asked, hands clasped at the small of his back, like a real battlecruiser commander.

"Few minutes longer sir," a crewman replied.

_How long is this going to last? We can't fight here forever. Jesus, the Zerg aren't going anywhere. All we're going to go to is Hell. _Thoughts raced blindly through Raynor's mind. He didn't know what to do, except kill Zerg. But they would all die if that kept on going. _Zerg aren't going anywhere..._

"Jackie, get me a link with Executor Tassadar. We need to talk."

**Aboard the _Gantrithor_**

Tassadar was busy with his own thoughts when Raynor called. Unlike Terran vessels, Protoss ships were so heavily automated so that the bridge of a Protossian vessel was very small. An impure Khaydarin crystal powered everything in the bridge, and only a handful crewmembers of the five-hundred man crew stood at duty over various equipment.

_Executor, there is a call from the _Hyperion_. Commander Raynor wishes to speak with you._

Tassadar's booming psionic voice echoed silently through the quiet bridge.

_I'll talk to him in my meditation room._ He quickly spun his heels on the glowing Protossian deck and left for his cabin, as his _Nas'tal_ pilots began finding more targets from the deluge of Zerg.

Outside, the battle raged on. In the fighter control room, Shelik yelled in agony as his fifth Interceptor was destroyed by a marauding Scourge.

_Blood of the gods! The Zerg are getting through!_

_Calm yourself, Shelik, your Interceptor is being built._ Amees said. The female Protoss calmly moved the "control stick" and blasted another Mutalisk that had gotten through. Shelik shook his head. There were too many.

Tassadar entered his room looking at the holo of Raynor in his cabin, his human, bloodshot eyes and smooth face almost devoid of emotion.

"Look man, I've got about one thousand boys out there in Wraiths, and they're all going to die if we can't stop the Zerg. My ships are taking the brunt of the attack, and the Zerg aren't planning to go anytime soon. We can't win this here. The Dark Templar and Ghosts can't get through. They can't do anything. It's time for plan B."

Tassadar sent a psionic message to Raynor.

_What is plan B, James?_

"I was afraid you would ask me that. Jesus, we should just retreat to the other side of Aiur for now, and regroup. There isn't a whole lotta anything we can do here. Look man, I know you have a thing about 'Protoss Honor' but your honor isn't a whole lotta good when nobody's there to honor you after this battle."

_You would abandon the troops on the ground, then? Remember that this is our last chance. We have no more reserves, no place to rebuild our forces. The Zerg can rebuild their armies, and will. Commander, this is our best chance. Our last chance._

Raynor paused for a moment. _He's right. Hancock, and all those friends of mine down there fighting their asses while we sit here without another plan. Damn Protoss logic! _"What the hell do you want to do?"

Tassadar's eyes narrowed.

_Stay here. We must keep fighting, the Zerg will launch an attack soon. And soon, there will be enough of a slim opportunity for the _Jashas_ to strike. I can feel it. The Overmind is afraid. And the _Jashas_ will be there to kill them._

"Boy, that was hopeful. 'Slim opportunity,' huh? Alright man, I'll trust you with this, since you know more about Zeratul than me. Raynor out."

_And I hope I am right to do such a thing like this, _Tassadar thought.

**Low orbit over Aiur**

With his bird fueled and armed, Ander pumped his Wraith into full speed into the thick of it, leaving the quiet center of the formation of ships to the raging, massive dogfight outside of it. On the starboard of his fighter, below his cockpit, four motifs of Confederacy starfighters followed by twelve insect-like symbols of Zerg displayed the kills he had. _I'm hoping to add a few more today. _The Wraith suddenly disappeared as Ander cloaked his fighter, blasting a Zerg with his forward lasers on his wing tips. _Gotta get to my squadron._

The Storks were named after a famous Earth-based World War I squadron, whose members included French ace pilots who sent their German counterparts flaming out of the sky. That was then. The new Storks sent Zerg tumbling as interstellar debris across space, efficiently as the old Storks did, though with lasers, missiles, and bombs instead of old-fashioned machine guns. Ander stared dreamily out of his cockpit for a second. _Must've been fun, flying with machine guns._

He looked at his HUD. Dozens of targets scrolled by on it, as starfighters juked out of the way of marauding Zerg. Ahead, he could see Scouts engaged in a huge battle against Zerg who were streaming into a gap, while Gemini missiles fired by invisible ships obliterated the Zerg.

"Kill the Overlords, the Overlords!" Ander's communications device crackled, and he looked on his side to see Stork-7 crash his fighter into a group of Zerg, ripping his ship apart, as pieces of hot metal flew randomly in space.

Overlords appeared into the fray, jamming the electronics inside the Terran fighters while detecting cloaked Wraiths and directing flyers to them.

Ander let out a flood of curses as he pulled the trigger, listening to the depressing silence on his comms. device. Arcs of red flame lanced out of his guns, flying into Zerg. They exploded into chunks of meat, like steaks being blasted by a shotgun.

A familiar Wraith, dark in color with a red heart crudely painted on the Wraith's "leg" flew into a group of Overlords, as the starfighter's missile launchers blossomed in deadly fire, blasting the bloated objects into dead floating space junk. It thrusted into a group of Mutalisks chasing a lone Protoss Scout, neatly dissecting Zerg by pricking the wings of the flyers with its lasers, as two other Storks followed in a vee wing formation, lasers ripping away at Mutalisks.

Ander's comms. flickered to life.

"...that you? Get on my left, we need to seal this gap."

"Yessiree, Captain Jansen."

Ander was still awed by his squadron's leader as he rejoined the Storks.

**Aboard the _Jer'zhul_, low orbit over Aiur**

The _Jer'zhul_, "Fury," slowly put the gravity manipulating field in front of it, effectively cloaking dozens of Wraiths and Scouts battling Zerg in the breach. Two other battlecruisers tried close the gap, blasting Zerg with their laser batteries, further depleting the energy needed to recharge the apocalyptic Yamato cannon.

_The imbeciles should have called for more reinforcements!_ Judicator Centurion Tes said. Her red robes were in stark contrast to her mosaic of red and purple dark skin, while her black eyes captured the ancientness of her body, seventy-five _junos_ old. _I am too ancient to be doing this,_ she thought. Tes, although of the red Judicator caste Ara, was not opposed to the rival Akilae Templar tribe, of which Tassadar was born in. Unlike many of her Judicator friends, she had sided with Tassadar when he called for Protoss troops to battle Zerg. Her anger was directed to the Zerg, not of her species. She was only one of the four Judicator-crewed ships to fight with Tassadar; the rest were scattered or destroyed during the Zerg invasion, while the Conclave of Elders decided what to do. _Useless bureaucrats. _She turned to a crewmember. _Begin process of Recalling Homefleet Squadron No. 5 and Terran B squadron,_ she thought, _We need more reinforcements here_.

_Yes, Centurion._

She watched intently at Phase Disruptor Cannon, the only weapon Arbiters carried, pummel a formation of Zerg flyers. The cannon targeted the Scourge first, but there were too many to stop. A Terran Wraith tried to intervene, but was driven away but pursuing Mutalisks.

_How long until the Recall is complete, Bachi?_

_A few more seconds, Centurion._

A Scourge came in range of the ship, stopped, and exploded on to the aft of the ship, near its four engines. The shields began to give way.

_Shields at ten percent, Centurion!_

_Direct energy from the cannon to Shields, Jax._

_That reduces the power of the cannon, Judicator!_ Bachi gave a furious expression on his face, an example he had learned working with Terrans.

_The cannon will not matter anymore if the ship is destroyed, Bachi._

_Yes, Judicator._ Another Scourge exploded, but this time in a burst of alien ichor from Gemini missiles of a Wraith.

"You should of called for some more reinforcements, man," the twang of the pilot's voice was annoying, and Tes let brief moment of anger pulse through her spine, and then stopped it.

_Thank you, Terran, _she said quietly, looking through the Arbiter's screen to see two battered squads of fighter clearing out the Zerg, as the Recall "swirl" effect faded in front of her. _Hopefully this will help stem the tide of Zerg._

_More ships are needed to seal the breach in the formation,_ she said, watching as trails of missiles hit Zerg. A countdown on a display showed the amount of time until another Recall could be initiated. It was going to be a long time before she could return to Aiur. If there was an Aiur to return to.

**Low orbit over Aiur**

Ander's fighter was back into action, as he smoothly tore the head off of a Mutalisk with a clean shot from his secondary burst lasers attached to his wing. He rolled his ship clockwise, following his lead, S2-1, or Captain Jansen. Though they were both of the same rank, Ander had no bad feelings against the other Wraith pilot commanding the squadron. Jansen was ten years his senior, and his experience promoted him to be the commander of the Storks, not the rank.

"Attention all units at the breach point. Yamato cannon is to be fired in fifteen seconds; you are advised to stay clear from the blast," said a female voice from the _Hyperion._

"Storks, follow me," Jansen said, twisting out of the way of a pursuing Scourge and letting Ander get his fifteenth kill of the day. He thrusted his stick forward, out of the formation and breach, as the massive "Hammer Head" of the _Hyperion _turned towards the breach. Hundred of Zerg flyers were streaming in, but the _Hyperion_ and two other battlecruisers loosened an inferno of nuclear energy at the swarm of biological flyers, making skeletons of the carapaces, ghosts of killers.

"Woohooo! Nice shot _Hyperion_!" Ander said. The Storks and Protoss squadrons began pursuing the remaining Zerg flyers, heading back to Aiur.

"What the hell...why are they retreating, sir?" Jonstone's voice sounded both agitated and relieved at the same time.

Jansen looked at the disappearing sun that covered the Overmind's residence on Aiur with darkness. The moon rose, up, providing a small cluster of light.

"They'll be back, after it get dark down there," Jansen said. "Let's get back to a 'cruiser and rest up. We're coming back out here tonight, Storks."


	7. Chapter 6: The Stand

Chapter Six: The Stand

_"Give me something to shoot."_

Terran Marine, Starcraft

**Zerg Territory, position H-6**

Pfc. Kit Ashley was still staring at his buddy's decapitated, grotesque body one hundred meters away from him, sprawled in an awkward position, a stump replacing his head, which was no where to be seen.

_What the hell is going to happen now?_ He looked at his chronometer, and then at the disappearing sun. There was still light to be seen, but after an hour or two, it would disappear. Zerg would replace light. He could feel it. They were massing, longing for blood as they watched intruders invade their territory.

Ashley started to sweat, clutching his gun closer. He had fought Zerg before and seen how they could scare the most veteran of soldiers; especially during the night. _Demons from hell..._

Like all mercenaries, Ashley had his own story to tell. He had been a Morian miner, a member of the Kel-Moria Guild that specialized in exploiting the numerous worlds of the Koprulu sector of its vast mineral and gas deposits. After the new anbot miners replaced human miners, Ashley and thousands of others were laid off. And with a wife and kid back home on Moria, Ashley had no choice but to enter the most widespread profession: becoming a mercenary.

He joined a company called "Black Hands," specializing in urban warfare. After a short training session and basic camp on Antiga Prime, he was shipped off to his first assignment, fighting for the Confederacy on Dylar IV. It was there he fought Zerg, and watched his new buddies die under claws and spines. He was lucky, knowing when to survive and when to fight. Because of his experience fighting Zerg, the Umojan Protectorate, with one of the best professional fighting forces (but virtually unskilled in fighting Zerg), hired him along with thousands of others veterans, shipping off to Aiur with Raynor's Raiders. And here he was.

But they still scared him. They would always scare him, those goddamn Zerg.

"Ashley!" Nacdle's loud voice startled Ashley out of his memories and back into reality: Campbell, the marine poisoned by Zerg spines was dead, his lungs filled with his own blood. Communication had been established between the dropship and the troops outside the ground, but it didn't matter. Hell, everyone was scared.

"Yessir!" Ashley turned around and saluted Nacdle, pressing hand over heart. His face was only showing a person scared shitless, he thought.

"Scout the area."

"Yessir."

Shouldering his gun, he trotted with a wariness, over the Creep. The land was much like his home, gently sloping, the dirt soft and moist. _Not made for these CMC suits_, he grumbled. A small patch of trees marked a location where the Creep had not invaded, though the green bark and red leaves were dying, however slowly, as the gelantious substance invaded its roots. Skillfully, he climbed up one of the trees, giving him a clearer view of the land. The land around the dropship was flat, a clear landscape clear of Zerg except for the creep that grew. Like towering fortresses, Ashley could see the spike-encrusted structures of Hives hidden behind hills. The only thing in view that was Zerg, besides the colony underneath the dropship was..._what the hell?_

Ashley's wandering eyes looked beyond him, and to a Zerg structure that was only fifty or so meters from the men. It had a cavernous opening, and it was glowing an ominous green. Ashley's eyes widened as he remembered what building it was from debrief. _Why the hell haven't we seen that? Damn, did they just grow one here?_

Through the ICD he told Nacdle.

"Ashley here. Sir, there's something to the west of the ship I haven't seen before."

"What are you looking at, private?" Nacdle's loud voice turned soft. He followed Ashley's directions to the structure. _Holy mother of God, a Nydus Canal! Looks like it just finished morphing. Maybe we could use this..._

McAllen reached the crash site before the firebats. His first instinct was to go to the ship and start helping men out, but he ran over to the dozen or so marines, standing with guns raised, fully alert. The Ghost probed the crashed ship with psionic skills, and he felt it. _Jesus, there's a colony under there! No wonder..._

McAllen embraced his psionic mind and reached out to feel what the other men were thinking. They turned around to him as he looked at each one. From a blue armored man, a squadron commander by his insignia, he felt fear and helplessness. From his squadron he felt the same thing. He looked at the mercs, easily distinguishing those men from his fellow Umojans by their armor. He didn't care much for mercenaries either, but at least they wouldn't shit their pants like the Umojan commander was doing.

One looked at him with a curious gaze. He turned to him: a man with grey, piercing eyes and a hawk-like nose: _He's blocking me! He has psionic talent too. I can't read his mind. No wonder I was drawn here. Damn, I thought Feds scoured the whole system for psionic talent...guess they missed this guy._

"Are you Nacdle?" he asked, shouldering his gun.

"Yes. Are you the assistance that was supposed to come, sir?"

"Yes and no." McAllen debated with himself, wondering if he should tell the marines about his other covert mission, even though its contents were still classified.

He decided it didn't matter anymore; the goddamn mission wouldn't work. _I'll wait until the flame-throwers get here._

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you when the other squadron gets here. Now, why are you-"

"Look, we've got a hundred men in that dropship. A Sunken colony underneath it. Zerglings surrounding it. Night's coming, and the Zerg launching an attack. You gonna fucking help us or what? Sir." The other marines looked at Nacdle shocked, never hearing anyone talk like that to a Ghost.

McAllen at Nacdle, masked, goggled face staring at a pair of eyes. "Nydus canal? Here?" McAllen was surprised. _Why Zerg would need to transport troops from the Cerebrate to here is..._his mind suddenly clicked.

"Holy mother of..." McAllen's sudden calm, cool composure disappeared under a blast of sudden excitement.

Nacdle was surprised, arcing his eyebrows up. "What do you mean, Agent?"

"I'm mean that your asses are all going to be saved."

**Aboard crashed dropship _T-34_**

Jonson, one of the men still inside the ship, was talking to God about deliverance when something lifted the dropship up. At first, he thought the two pilots had gotten the ship to miraculously fly again, but it wasn't it: he saw a massive tongue like object lift the ship up from the bottom. Black's body was also lifted onto the tongue, as shrill screams informed him that the Zerglings had been thrown off. Then the ship went down again, as well as the body.

Men were screaming again, as they realized what the ship was sitting on: a Sunken colony. The Zerglings climbed up on the ship again, resuming their attack to get inside the ship. O'toole, who had somehow managed to get out of the metal trapping his legs, hobbled on both legs as he grinned crazily at everyone, pointing down and saying: "No rescue now boys, we've got a friend underground!" He turned around to Jonson. "Where's God now, boy?"

Jonson closed his eyes. _No wonder they aren't rescuing us, they can't!_ A marine, out of fear or anger, lifted his Impaler and sent bursts of spikes into the creature beneath him, as the bullets savagely cut into Black's body and the colony. The structure bled red on the ship's interior. Acrid smoke rose up and made Jonson and the rest of the men cough, and the ship's metal plates vaporized into black, burnt metal.

"Stop firing!" Another squadron commander, second lieutenant Allison Carter smacked the man with an armored fist and took away his gun. "Listen..." The men stopped wailing and listened as a metallic _clomp_ was heard on the ceiling of the dropship. The Zerglings stopped growling. The burst of a rifle firing was heard, followed by a _thump _of soft flesh. More _thumps_ and shrill screams of Zerg. Zerglings clambered away, yelping as they were hit by metal slugs.

Then the hatch opened.

A snaky, dry voice questioned the men, as they squinted at the sight of darkening sunlight. "Anyone alive down there?" It seemed like no one was there, but Jonson could see a shimmering, almost invisible form of a Ghost. _Cloaked from the Sunken colony...how brilliant_, Jonson thought.

"Sir, this is squadron commander Allison Carter of Zulu-1D squadron. We're requesting your assistance, please."

"Can you see the Sunken colony from there?"

"Sir, the roo' is directed underneath us, and we can see the head of it, where the root sprouts"

"I'm on it."

The Ghost jumped down, landing lightly on the uneven dropship, balanced by the bulk of the Sunken colony. He walked on it carefully, as it was centimeters off the ground. Hoisting his C-10 'Frag' Canister Rifle shoulder high, the marines back away from him, minds swirling with fear and curiosity as he surveyed each one. _Odd bunch of troops. They've been inside here too long._

Their faces seemed weird in the darkness, covered by visors. He decloaked, carefully letting his gun down as he looked at each man with his scoped eyes. One displayed a curious mixture of delight and curiosity, but no fear...there was something quite unright about that one. All the other marines, disheveled mercs and haughty Sarians, displayed fear seeing a Ghost, only recognizing them from theater cinematics.

_Better look out for the crazy one,_ he thought, looking at the curiosity of a marine's eyes, as the man hobbled around.

He turned to the man that talked to him, a blue-armored man with a Impaler gripped firmly in his armored glove.

"Intelligence Officer Spc. Ethan McAllen," he said, his voice raspier than it needed to be. The myth of the Ghost had been perpetuated by the Confederacy, but Umojan Intelligence Operatives, as Ghosts were called by Umojans, were spies, not ruthless assassins.

"Sir, yes sir!" Carter responded, saluting to the Ghost.

"Where's the root?"

Carter pointed to the opening in the dropship, where a side of a dead marine laid, crushed when the dropship landed. Besides him, an odd looking tongue was lolled out, almost waiting for another victim. The portion of the tongue, McAllen knew was connected to the rest of the structure underground, along with its other grotesque parts. All he needed to do was sever to root from the rest of it.

"Stand back, this won't be pretty." The marines edged back to the sides of the circular dropship, as the Agent hoisted his gun. He could see the root was already bleeding, spewing spurts of blood on the corroded dropship floor.

He took an aim, and fired. The canister, which was really a massive, cylindrical bullet one and a half centimeters wide and six centimeters long, blasted into the root, as the Sunken colony flinched and lifted up a few centimeters, rocking the ship. More blood came out. He fired another canister, this time completely severing the tongue off the colony. A gallon of blood poured out on the remains of the marine and seeped back into the ground, as the Creep began retreating from the area of the dropship, decomposing at a light-speed rate. The flesh from the rest of the structure began to melt, as its weapon and nutrient device was severed off.

"McAllen here." He talked into his ICD. "I've killed the colony. It's safe to come down here now."

He turned around to the other men. "Assemble outside," he said, looking at them. _Now it's time to fulfill your end of the bargain._

**At _T-34's_ crash site**

Firebat squadron commander Hancock shook his blackened head for the thousandth time as he put his visor down and lead a squadron of men to the dropship. _Bait...they used us as fucking pieces of bait!_ After his company had arrived, the Ghost had conferenced with the squadron commanders of Zulu and Yankee, and debriefed them on what them weren't supposed to know about the Cerebrates, Nukes, Dark Templar, and so on...one marine commander had simply emptied his stomach after the Ghost told them the whole story. It was sickening. He couldn't believe Raynor would send thousands of boys out here to die, just to provide cover to Agents and Protoss that now couldn't do their job. _I thought we could trust that man. Goddamn, we've been with him since day one. But he just uses us like rhydons_.

A few hundred men were assembled here now, with all medics lifting the wounded and dead from the ship, while other marines and firebats patrolled the perimeter. For almost a kilometer, a flat, peaceful landscape, devoid of anything, stretched, surrounded by Zerg structures.

Hancock had grown up in Mar Sara, with Jim Raynor, his next door neighbor. Why he wasn't safely tucked in as a battlecruiser commander like all of Raynor's other friends was his own doing. He had simply enjoyed the thrill of burning things; pyromaniacs were like that.

When Raynor, one of his best buddies, decided to become a Marshal of the rural farming region of New Delta on Mar Sara, Hancock enlisted in the Confederate Gamma Squadron, as a marine. A few months of pain and suffering, he joined the 21st Heavy Assault Battalion. He slowly worked his way up, and finally became a Firebat squadron commander.

_Bait! Why the hell..._

Jones also felt the sickening sense of getting tricked into a mission that he didn't want to do. _Raynor did this shit on us. We trusted him because he was like the rest of us, hicks from a backwater planet, and he just shitted on us. Who the hell can we trust?_

Even more surprising though, was the Ghost's plan to fulfill his mission. And the two companies would help him.

He debriefed them on the plan. A Nydus Canal was the fastest transportation mechanism the Protoss and Terran had ever seen, able to rapidly transport a small Zergling or a massive Ultralisk through an underground network of tunnels. Once one Canal had been successfully implanted in the ground, it spread its roots to different directions, and could grow more Canals to link each Zerg base together, forming an organic subway system. The Canal's main point of departure laid in the center of a Zerg base. The Cerebrate was also strategically in the center of the base, the point hardest to attack.

McAllen's plan was to launch a Interplanetary Medium Ballistic Missile (IMBM), from a space station orbiting Aiur on the Cerebrate; to do this he would have to crawl through a few hundred meters worth of Nydus Canal underground tunnels to get to a point to set a launch time by the Cerebrate, launch the missile, and wait for denotation underground. The blast above would level millions of Zerg into their own hell. He could not destroy the Cerebrate himself, but he could wipe out the millions of Zerg packed into the Cererbrate's defense zone (in this case, Jormungand brood's Cerebrate, Araq), so that the Dark Templars could sneak in and do their job. Once one had been killed, the whole Zerg chain of command would collapse for a few minutes, allowing other Tango teams to kill the other Cerebrates too.

The infantry's job was to protect McAllen as he crawled through the Canal and launched the missile. The Canal, located a few hundred meters northeast of the crashed dropship, would have to be protected by bats and grunts so that Zerg would be blasted if they tried to get in or out of the Zerg transportation building. If the Zerg took control of the area they were in, they would surely send Overlords out to detect hidden units, and even worst, stop to check if there were any intruders in their buildings. McAllen wanted the grunts and flamethrowers to keep the Zerg busy, until he could get in and launch a nuke. Other men had to be stationed inside the ship to provide another line of defense for the incoming Zerg from the west, while a recon unit would be stationed even farther away to provide intelligence on the whole situation. Nacdle, Hancock, and McAllen had agreed on one thing: if the Zerg were launching a counter-attack, they were going to launch it pretty soon. The Aiuran sky was darker now, and McAllen could feel the psionic presence of Zerg readying for an assault.

Nacdle tried to communicate with any other squadrons and ships to help him, but the signals were jammed by Overlords. _Just me and my men now._

**Near Jormungand Brood's Cerebrate, Araq**

Aragas, Zami, and Jin of the Tango team were looking at the movement around the Jormungand's Zerg Cluster. They were moving everything, as Overlords were sent to scout, Hydralisks popped out of the ground and disappeared into waiting Overlords, as other of the beasts moved deeper into the base. Zerglings scrambled around, waiting for something. And Zami could feel the massive presence of more troops still underground, waiting for any strike at the Cerebrate Araq.

_We will never accomplish this task!_ _Forgive me, my fathers, I have failed._ A device underneath his cloaks beeped once.

_Curse these infernal Terran devices!_ Zami said, fumbling into his cloak and pulling out a communications device that McAllen had given him. _Dude, I'll call on this thing if I need you for anything..._Zami remembered the lips of the human move as he talked. It was odd...

Zami pointed the device to his center of his neck, where a machine was implanted into his voice organ to translate Protossian speech to Terrans. Most of the time, the Templars liked to use their gifted minds to communicate psychically, but other times they had to resort to this.

_Yes, Ethan?_

"Is that you, Zami? Look I've found a way to kill this Cerebrate. There's a Nydus Canal here. If I crawl far enough into the tunnels leading to the main Hive Cluster, I'll eventually reach where the Cerebrate is. I'll launch a nuke, massacre all the Zerg burrowed or guarding the Cerebrate, and then your people come and kill it. That way, the other T-teams will be able to slip into their Cerebrate's place and kill them, too."

_How do you propose getting through the Zerg that are going to be inside the Canal? They are launching an attack, Terran._

"I'll need a costume...one of the marine commanders here told me about some Hydralisks that they killed. They're not very far from here; we could go get one and I'll don it on like a costume."

_A dead carcass as a costume...sickening how these _Homo sapiens_ do everything in their will to get the mission done-_his thoughts were interrupted.

_That is why they have survived so long, Zami. They persist._ Jin spoke up for the first time, not looking at Zami as he polished his dry, pebble-like skin, blue surrounding hard, gray flesh. _I heard the message and your thought. The plan is worthy enough, we must do everything in our power to stop this...infestation._

Zami turned around. _And how do you think that a dead flesh of a Zerg can look even similar with a bulging human inside of it?_

"I'll explain that, man. We've got a guess on how the Zerg see. Their main use of sight is to see heat-signatures. Zerg only see in outlines of heat, the more heat the thing is giving off, the more red they see. And they'll see blue if the think they're looking at doesn't radiate heat. They don't see in the world of flesh and color like we do. Or you guys. Anyways, organic things resonate their heat, right? And inorganic things don't. Zerg have been trained to attack anything not organic, that's why we're so easy targets in our armor even if we are camouflaged. The Zerg won't attack me because I'll be in a Hydralisk flesh; they've been engineered not to attack their own troops. When they see 'me' squatting, they'll just think it's just an injured Hydra limping it's way back to base. And if they do attack," Zami heard a Terran machine being cocked. _A gun? _"They'll have my Zerg Popper pistol to deal with."

_And our mission, Ethan?_

"You just stay there and inform us when the Zerg are moving, and then, when you see the nuke, kindly cover your mouths and don't look directly at the explosions. Then kill the Cerebrate."

_We go through with this plan, Ethan,_

He clipped the device into the folds of his cloak.

**At crashed dropship _T-34_**

When Nacdle had been asked by his men as he helped men out of the ship what the hell they were going to do now, he told them: "What we were hired to do."

Jones provided a clearer debrief for the marines, the survivors who almost were bursting with joy as they filed out of the ship. Their glum resumed as Jones told them what they had to do: defend the ship.

**At position H-5**

Pfc. Kit Ashley nervously ran with seven other men to the trees they had initially climbed right after the crash, three kilometers east of the ship. No Zerg gave chase as the firebats accompanied them. _Nacdle's right, they are massing to launch a massive assault._

He had been picked to be ALPHA-Recon, leading the best snipers of the company. He had asked his squadron commander why he was picked...

"Why me?" he asked.

"You're the best goddamn sniper I have," Nacdle responded. "I need you to pick off incoming units and inform us how many are still coming towards us."

"Can I leave my armor then too, sir?"

Nacdle turned around as he helped another marine off the ship. "Why?"

"It'll slow me down, sir. Firing a big gun isn't easy with all this armor."

"Alright."

"Thanks, sir."

"One more thing. Some squadrons of firebats are going to be accompanying you. Once you snipers are in the trees, they'll be done on the ground, flaming up everything that comes."

"Yessir."

Ashley had started picking men. Sounds of sniper rifles loading and blasting Zerg with a bone-crushing impact danced in his head...

**At crashed dropship, defending position H-6**

Specialist Mac Damly had his hands full. He had been ordered by Nacdle, one of the merc commanders, to make the dropship "a bunker." His job was to make the crashed, half balanced, deformed craft into something that would stand up against Zerg attack. They would be attacking from the east of the dropship; already eight sharpshooters were three miles east, climbing up dead trees with three firebat squadrons. They would inform the rest of the men about the Zerg advance. Men would be holed up in the ship to kill the approaching Zerg, while another band of 'bats and marines would stationed right by the Canal, blasting Zerg.

Most of the marines that had just gotten out of the ship groaned at the thought of having to get in again. Most had volunteered to be stationed by the firebats by the Canal.

Unlike most of the Sarians fighting in Raynor's Raiders, Damly was one of the few who were from Chau Sara, Mar Sara's wealthier brother planet. He had been an engineer in the city of Dinkar, working on various building projects for the bustling city of 500,000. As rumors swirled of an alien attack on his planet, he thought he could wisely move his family to a safer place, on the relatively isolated world of Mar Sara. But the Zerg came down there too, and incinerated Damly's wife and son. Damly was already in the Confederate's Gamma Squadron then, but ran away to join the Raiders when he heard about how the Feds had not lifted a finger to save Chau and Mar Sara from destruction. His squadron commander, Staff Sergeant Bob Zyner had told Nacdle about his engineering skills, and now here he was...

Damly lifted up a piece of metal while he and five other marines worked inside the ship, the only light showing from a crudely improvised wire connected to the dropship's battery; on the end of the wire was a light bulb. He watched as the metal he was carrying slowly melt, the end of it tipped with the blood of the blasted Sunken Colony. Quickly, he moved to the side of the ship, letting the bloody piece of metal burn itself on the iron side, making a hole. Acrid metallic smoke filtered into his nose through his opened visor. He took his gun and inserted it into the hole he had just made into the ship's east side. The nozzle of the Gauss rifle fit perfectly through the hole. _I'm making it a bunker!_

Through his sound receptor on his helmet he could hear the marines assigned to work with him drilling and unscrewing the nuts and bolts that held the ceiling of the dropship together, slowly taking it off. The interior of the ship would be made into an operating room for the sixteen medics that were attached to Yankee and Zulu. Wounded infantry would be taken care of here as the battle roared around them.

All of the SHW gunners had survived, providing an amazing array of lethal firepower. They, along with other marines, would be stationed on the top of the ship, while others would be shooting inside it from the holes Damly was making, almost as in a bunker, where men could be stationed inside a protective building and could shoot at enemies approaching the building.

"What's the time?" Damly asked, to one of the corpsman laying his stuff carefully inside the ship, avoiding the corrosive blood of the Colony.

"29:58:45, sir."

"They'll be attacking pretty soon."

"Yessir."

"Get on with your work."

While Nacdle shouted instructions and infantrymen worked feverishly, Jones was counting the dead.

It took Jones and two his men fifteen minutes to ripped off the glass of the cockpit that held the two female pilots. There was a minute chance they were still alive, still stuck in the cockpit five or six hours after it crashed. Besides...Jones was a Sarian, a self-proclaimed hick that was a gentleman; he wouldn't leave ladies inside to be gnawed by Zerg.

The pilots were definitely dead though. One of them had her neck in a crazy angle, no doubt from the bone-crunching impact when the ship crashed. The other had dried blood staining her visor and face; her broken body was sprawled, hands still on the controls. Jones closed the eyes of pilot who had broke her neck.

"Damn."

"Jones?" His ICD crackled again. The Overlords jamming apparently didn't affect men that were only a few meters away.

"Yeah?"

"Are the pilots still alive?"

"No."

"Get back here, we've got work to do."

"Alright."

Jones turned around to his men. "If we get out of here, we're giving these two a proper burial. I'm not fucking leaving them here for some hungry Zerg. Goddamn Raynor! He left us here to die."

Casualties from the dropship were amazingly light. Only Pfcs. Campbell and Smith died from the squads that managed to get out of the dropship; Black's body was still smashed underneath the ship. The pilots were dead as well, but the Company Zulu-1 had only suffered three casualties out of 120 men. Yankee-1 had another 110 men to spare. Two hundred and twenty-seven men would be defending a grounded ship from thousands of incoming Zerg, buying time for a Ghost. Two hundred and twenty-seven men that thought they were wrongly cheated, sent to die by a commander they had been loyal to. But now only fighting for survival.

Spc. Maxwell lifted his SHW-5 gun on the dropship, settling into a crouching position on the top of the ship along with the other marine gunners. His heavy, black gun was mounted on a portable tripod. It was darker still, as he closed the visor on his helmet, automatically going to night-vision. _All is quiet on the western front..._

A hand rest on his shoulder. He turned around to see Nacdle smiling, somewhat handsome and regal. He didn't look like the other mercs, Maxwell realized.

"No fear," he said, quietly, dropping his visor down.

Maxwell repeated the Zulu slogan. "No fear."

The men of Zulu Company, a band of motley mercenaries, hicks, and men from dead worlds, were ready to fight. Only a few hours ago, they had experienced the crashing of a dropship and surrounding of hostile forces eager to kill them. Without the leadership of Nacdle, (who had assumed virtual position of Captain of Zulu), a merc so pitied by some of the men in Zulu because he was paid to fight, Z squadron would have been massacred. But now they were ready to kill, eager to kill, to avenge and wreak havoc on the biological bred killers that had mutilated families, made a ghost land of their planets, and stripped away their honor and dignity.

McAllen made the last preparations to his masquer, from the carcass of the Hydralisk. Several of the Hydra's parts were missing, and all of its deadly spines had been pulled out. He donned it on, cold, slimy, and wet. Only his gun showed. He still need it to pinpoint the missile to a launch point. He walked, dragging the Hydra's swishing tail with him, parts of its flesh missing. It was heavy. The Agent focused his psionic energy to make himself surge with adrenaline, giving him a welcome boost of energy.

A band of marines, surrounded by firebats in their heavier CMC-660, looked at him. Over a hundred in all. One of the firebat commanders, Hancock, gave him a cold salute. He still didn't like what the Ghost told him, about Raynor. McAllen nodded to him.

Hancock, all of Squadron Y, and almost half of Zulu would defend the Nydus Canal until the Ghost completed his job. Their mission was to protect the Canal from destruction or invasion from incoming Zerg forces, although, as Hancock saw it, the Zerg would be coming _out_ of the Canal too.

"Sir." The Ghost turned around, looking at the psionic marine.

"Lieutenant Nacdle."

"Good luck, sir. We'll hold out here as long as we can."

"Hopefully that will be long enough."

Nacdle watched as the Ghost slipped off into the glowing Canal. He wondered if he would see him again.

"Uh, Lieutenant?"

Nacdle turned around, annoyed. "_Yes_, Corporal Yates?"

"I have to go."

"Go where?"

An embarrassed silence. "Go to the bathroom."

"Do it in your freaking suit, bloody hell!"

Nacdle heard a relieved sigh from the marine.

He ran back to the ship, climbing on top with the help of Maxwell. He realized he had to go too. _It'll have to wait..._

His ICD crackled again. "Commander?"

"Yeah Kit?"

"They're coming. Heading to your place from the east, like you said."

"Alright." He ordered his ICD to go to the Public channel.

"All troops, respond to check-in."

Hancock's voice responded. "ALPHA Canal, hot and green." One hundred and ten marines and firebats were there, Nacdle thought, as he looked north at the mass of troops not far away from the ship.

Kit's voice responded. "ALPHA Recon, ready to kill." Another fifty-three marines and 'bats waited there.

Nacdle responded last. "ALPHA Ground Zero. Nacdle out." The rest of the marines, sixty four of them, arrayed inside the ship through crudely made bunker-like slits would fire their rifles, as well as gunners on top.

He heard the rumbling, earth shattering shakes of the approaching Horde. _No fear..._


	8. Chapter 7: Nuclear Launch Detected

Chapter Seven: Nuclear Launch Detected

_"Never know what hit 'em."_

Terran Ghost, Starcraft

**Inside Nydus Canal**

_What the hell did I get myself into? _McAllen thought, almost out loud. Covered in a Hydralisk's thick carapace and almost doused in a meter of orange colored liquid, he wondered if this mad plan of his would work. Holding fiercely to a cold of stringy, organic rope, he loaded his gun. Just in case.

Once he was in the canal, the thing, like a suction cup, sucked him in rapidly, pushing him down with an unnatural inhaling noise, like the structure was respirating. He had barely been able to hold onto his gun and ragged costume. The canal sucked him down underground, and the only way he stopped was clutching that ropy cord. The view was startling, something that no other human alive had been able to see: a Zerg sewer, flooded in waist deep organic liquid that was moving in different currents. For something organic, it had better lighting, bioluminescence, than most city sewer systems. The Ghost stood there for several moments, astounded. The currents of liquid changed directions at intervals, moving a random Zergling or two every which way. This was how the Zerg were able to transport troops so quickly, to every sector. The Zerg were propelled, like boats, being pushed by the currents and sucks in or out by the respirating openings.

_How ingenious_, he thought. Ingenious, but soon to be extinct, as McAllen would help kill the thing that was directing the movement of these structures.

Carefully, McAllen marked the canal opening he had come in, so he could find his way back to the companies after he was done. Awkwardly, he adjusted his costume, glad that he would only have to wear it halfway for the trip because he could use his cloaking mechanism the way back.

It was odd that Y and Z companies went along with his plan so quickly. The marines and firebats were a bunch of backcountry rednecks, with no planet to go back to, but still...that man, Nacdle of Zulu. He was another mystery.

McAllen shook off the questions. None of it mattered if he succeeded or failed. Embracing his psionic power, he located the direction of the Cerebrate. Taking a deep breathe, he let go of the cord, allowing the liquid to push him on his psionic trail.

**Three kilometers from dropship crash site**

Pfc. Kit Ashley aimed his specially designed sniper C-14 rifle, and fired. A Zergling, running, suddenly tripped on its own feet and fell, a bullet implanted in its brain, unnoticed by other Zerg. One.

Another Zergling, sprinting at top speed, made its final jump as Ashley drilled a three centimeter, hypersonic "spike" through the soft skin on the Zergling's head. It fell, head then crushed by a lashing tail of a Hydralisk. Two.

Nacdle had been right in sending out a recon unit to the dead trees that they initially were in: a mass of thousands of purple Jormungand Zerg were coming from the east, streaming to destroy any Terran or Protoss existence on their territory. Their counteroffensive had begun.

Ashley's night vision visor showed him the massive horde sprinting towards the dropship: thousands of galloping Zerglings, with Hydralisks, taller and leaner than the wolf-sized Zerglings. The Hydras were sparse and few, their long bodies bobbling up and down in a current of Zerglings, like cavalry commanders leading men into battle. Overhead, Overlords watched the troops as they headed east, ready to direct the battle.

_Hopefully they'll leave these snipers and firebats alone. _ALPHA recon was almost a kilometer south of the horde, with firebats hidden under the brush of dead vegetation and trees, ready to kill any Zerg that came in their direction. The eight snipers fired continually, picking off Zerglings, but hardly denting the mass of Zerg.

Ashley looked through the scope of his gun, aimed, fired, and winced as the recoil of the rifle hit his shoulder. He zoomed in with his built-in binocular in his visor, and saw a dead Zergling, head completely gone, slump as its companions walked over it. Three.

"How many Zerg?" Nacdle's voice was filled with static as Overlords tried to jammed the communications.

Ashley's reply came back in a whisper: "Thousands."

**At _T-34_'s crash site**

Pfc. Shumaker wasn't feeling particularly well as he squat in the interior of the dropship, waiting for the attack, cradling his gun. The other men weren't doing too good either, as they sat on the sides, waiting for that dreadful order to come up and man a heavy gun that a marine had been killed doing.

Eight other men were laying flat on their back, rifles at the ready, looking through small holes made by corrosive blood-acid, watching for the enemy as in a bunker, except with crudely made holes just enough to fit the nozzle of the Impalers in.

Shumaker's and other marines orders had been to wait inside the ship until one of the eight marines manning the heavy guns on top of the ship was wounded or dead, then climb up on the ship and start firing the heavy weapon again. Nacdle had given the order, making none of the Sarians who scorned mercs like Nacdle too happy. But Nacdle looked straight at Shumaker and seemingly sensing the maddeningly fear of terror fill the private.

"I know it's hard to do something like this," Shumaker recalled Nacdle saying, almost reading the private's mind, "but we have to work as a company, a group, a gathering, a band, rather than as individual men wanting only to survive. If we work as a whole like the Zerg do, each man doing his job to benefit the group, we will survive."

Shumaker smiled as he remembered the commander's words, stroking his gun as if ready to kill. A new surge of adrenaline took him. Nacdle had been rumored for making short but good speeches.

"No fear?" A nervous merc marine looked at Shumaker intently, his visor down, but his voice filled with fear.

Shumaker clasped his hand into a fist and slammed it onto his left breastplate. "No fear."

Spc. Maxwell looked through his helmet, visor up, at the darkness in front of him. He could not see the Zerg approaching from his position, manning a heavy, black, insidious heavy gun, on top of the dropship. He could feel the Zerg coming though, as the earth shook. He plopped his visor down, muttered 'night vision,' followed by a profanity.

Green outlines of Zerg appeared, as they sprinted. Hundreds of them, Zerglings followed by Hydralisks. He moved his hand to the trigger on the SHW-5 gun, mounted on a tripod.

"Wait," Nacdle said. "Ten seconds. Then start killing."

The other seven men held their fire too, five of them, (including Maxwell), on the main frame of the ship, while another laid by the tail, and two more by the cockpit. Nacdle stood up, his imposing standard 2.75 meter exosuit looking straight toward the Zerg, as he hoisted his C-14. He fired once in the air, signaling to all the troops, more than two hundred men, to get ready and stay sharp.

The Zerglings suddenly organized themselves, from a disorganized mass of killers to lines of vee wing, five on each side. The first line of Zerglings practically threw themselves towards the top of the ship. Eight men inside fired, and Zerg carapace was shredded by Gauss rifles.

Maxwell and the gunners opened up. The next line of Zerglings sprinted, jumping up again, towards them, and Maxwell lifted his gun up at an angle, blasting a Zergling to pieces, hot bullets piercing carapace. It shrieked and fell to the ground with its other brothers, the sound magnified by the screams of dozens of dying Zerg.

The marines opened up with everything they had. Spent cartridges went _clack, clack, _on the frame of the dropship, sliding down the angular hull and falling on the ground. Hundreds of rounds were being expelled as line after v-shaped line of Zerglings crashed into the dropship, trying to get to the men inside, while others launched themselves against the ship's top. The bore of the heavy weapon was heating up, Maxwell noticed, almost too hot to touch. Nacdle opened up with his rifle, shooting down everything his gunners couldn't get. Bursts of three 'spikes' erupted from his gun, expertly slicing Zerglings' brains open, green masses of tissue spilling out. Spent shells showered the gunners.

"Reload!" Nacdle cried, and instinctively, almost like machines themselves, without emotion, without feeling, all eight gunners reached into their suits, grabbed an ammo casing with two hundred and fifty-five bullets, pulled out the old box, and clipped on the new one on the side. They resumed firing.

Marines, from the opening the troops had made on the top of the ship, opened fire with their guns; only the Gauss weaponry and armored hands were sticking up to unload a long tirade of bullets at the slowly advancing Zerg. They didn't aim, knowing anything they would hit would be a solid mass of the Horde.

Hawkins, a marine lying flat on his armored belly inside the ship, fired his rifle through the slit made by the engineers. Outside, he could see a growing pile of dead Zerglings piled on the ground. Each new wave of dead was piled closer to the ship. _They're advancing..._

Other Zerg continued to spring like grasshoppers on the top, trying to get into the interior. Hundreds of other Zerglings move to attack the band of troops stationed at the Canal. Within seconds, the dropship was surrounded by Zerg.

A clever Zergling saw a chance to ease its unending thirst to kill when a gunner, intent on mowing down Zerg on the east side of the ship, had his back exposed to the Zerg. It hopped on him, four feral claws digging past, through armor, to the spine of the marine, crushing it. The man screamed as his vertebrae broke, letting go of the trigger of his gun. Nacdle calmly blasted the Zerg, bullets slashing the underbelly, as the marine died.

"Man down!" Nacdle shouted. Two pair of hands popped out of the ship's interior and dragged the man into the ship, while another marine climbed up to the dead marine's gun, and resumed firing.

**Surrounding Nydus Canal Structure**

Hancock watched as men holed up inside the ship were holding up against a deluge of Zerg. They were only a few hundred meters off, and visible through the visor's night vision. Some of the Zerg though, ignored the ship completely and started rushing towards Hancock's group. Marine gunners tried to stop them but were too busy trying to kill the plethora of Zerglings from getting on top. They were surrounded.

The firebats were arranged in a circle, and within it were marine gunners. It was very much like a _phanlax_ Hancock had learned about in Earth History class: shieldmen, (the firebats), holding shields and pikes, (the flamethrowers), were up front, while archers, (the marines), were in the back.

Hancock and his men watched as some of the Zerglings coming at them claw at the marine armor purposely left on the ground. The armor exploded, showering the area with flesh.

Damly, one of those nerdy geniuses, had asked Nacdle for permission to rig the armor the snipers had left behind with explosives and scatter them on the ground leading to Hancock's position. The engineer had heard about the Zerg seeing with heat sources rather than colors and visible light like humans do. He had wanted to rig the unused armor with sticky grenades, knowing that the Zerg would attack anything that wasn't emitting a strong heat signature, knowing they would be inorganic. Nacdle complied.

Hancock watched another Zergling fiercely stab an armored helmet with its feral claws. The helmet exploded. The Zergling did too, organs and blood spilling out of it like a basketball that was too pumped up. He grinned. _They're seeing heat signatures now, aren't they?_

"Flames!" Hancock yelled, and two of the flamethrowers obediently sprayed flames on the ground, igniting fuel that was dumped on the ground, making a massive semi-circle of deadly, blossoming fire.

"Rifles up!" Jones' voice cracked through the intercom in each man's helmet.

"Flamethrowers up!" Hancock watched as the men lifted their flamethrowers to a parallel line to the ground, their armored fingers on the trigger.

Like beasts from hell, the first line of ten Zerglings almost catapulted from the flames, jumping through them before being scorched by a massive wall of napalm based fuel from the infantry. The next line was far longer, Hancock estimated. Almost fifty of the buggers jumped through, some blasted and shredded like lettuce by marines, others scorched and incinerated by 'bats. If they could hold up like this for another thirty minutes so that the Ghost could get in position, they were good to go.

Then needles came raining down on the men.

**At _T-34_'s crash site**

Jonson, a marine that was manning a big gun on top of the ship, heard an all-too peaceful sigh from his fellow gunner on his left. Jonson turned around while holding down the trigger of his Squad Heavy Weapon. The marine had two spikes protruding out of his left breastplate, as the man slumped on his gun, trigger still held down by the dead man's fingers.

"Medic!"

A pair of hands grabbed the lifeless marine, as the horrifying _click_ sound in the gun echoing through screams of men and Zerg. A marine popped out of the dropship. Jonson saw it was his buddy Shumaker. His edgy, nervous face was replaced by the cold, robotic form of his visor, as he sat down at the gun without ammo. His nervous fingers, shaking as he got a clip from his armored pocket, suddenly dropped the ammo clip, as another Hydralisk spine penetrated straight into his chest. He slumped on the top of the ship.

"Noooo!" Jonson put a hand on his friend's shoulder, hoping he survived. His neck slumped downward, unmoving.

"Get down!" Another voice, Nacdle's shouted through the din of the battle, and the other gunners curled themselves into a tight ball as they streamed ammunition out. Jonson heard a wet squishing noise, louder than anything he heard: hundreds of spines were being launched at them. He screamed as one hit his leg.

"Medic! Medic!" Another line of Zerg fell, this time almost touching the hull of the dropship. Dead were piled around the ship, flamboyantly colored forms of purple Zerglings with metallic human-shaped forms, of men who fell to the Zerg onslaught. Zerglings were tripping their dead in their effort to get on the ship.

"Drink this." Nacdle handed Jonson a flask of blue liquid, as the private felt a rush of blood coming out of his mouth. The first symptoms of Hydra's spine poison. He swallowed back up. He thought he was going to die from the poison.

"Sir, you know I don't drink."

"It's not fucking alcohol, it's an antidote!"

Jonson grabbed the flask and forced the liquid down his throat after he lifted his visor. It was acidic, more so than lemon juice or vinegar.

"Sir, what was that?"

"Diluted Hydra's urine. Only known antidote for their poison. Continue firing, private. Medic! We've got a pincushion here." Nacdle did not mean it as a joke.

Jonson didn't know what he was more shocked by: the sight of Shumaker, spread-eagled on the ship, with spines protruding from neck armor to his shins guards, or the fact that he had just drank urine. He continued to fire. Zerglings were very, very, close to the ship now.

**Surrounding Nydus Canal Structure**

Almost half of the firebats that were spread out defending the Nydus canal from Zerg were killed or wounded. Shouts of men, stricken by volleys of needles, poking out of their armored vests at every angle, were deluging Staff Sergeant Bob Zyner's ICD. They were followed by disgusting gurgles of men drowning in their own blood.

Zyner, a Sarian, had quickly been promoted to his current status after his brilliant defense on the space platforms where the Doomsday weapon, the Ion Cannon, had been located. He had been a corporal then, when the Raiders were first formed. During the consolidation of the Dominion by Mengsk, the Emperor planned to eliminate Raynor and his rag-tag band with an Ion Cannon, a development the Feds had been working on until the turncoat Edmund Duke had allied with the Korhalian and handed over the key to the weapon. Zyner remembered very well when the first blasts of the M-25A2 Arclite Siege tank had pounded his bunker, killing his commander. With nothing but an instinct to survive, Zyner lobbed a grenade into the tank's massive, twin-bore cannon, mutilating the gun in a splash of metal. He had then led a charge to kill the tank's crew. It had been pure luck, pure, dumb luck that he blew up the tank's gun, but that luck had gotten him promoted to Staff Sergeant and a squadron to command.

The position he was now defending wasn't so easy. There was no easy way to defend an area with thousands of Zerg encroaching upon it from all sides. _What we need now are siege tanks, bunkers, and turrets to kill those damn Overlords. But all we got is guns and our hands._

He fired nimbly over the shoulder of a hulking firebat, his flamethrowers spouting red-orange flames at the Zerglings, bursting carapace into burnt armor, making a nasty smell that came up into Zyner's opened receptors.

"Off," he said, and the receptors on either side of his helmet closed. Now he couldn't hear the sounds of the battle, only through his ICD.

A Zergling jumped too close towards the firebat's helmet, and Zyner lifted his gun, and fired. Three bullets shredded the Zerglings tail, but did nothing to stop the opened jaws of the monster. It landed on the firebat, claws digging into through the armor, opening jaws biting down to crack the firebat's helmet, as a great spurt of blood flooded out of its mouth. Zyner was glad he had shut the receptor's off. He could only imagine the sound of bones crunching under the impact of the jaws. The firebat's arms suddenly fell down to his sides, flamethrowers still on, as he fell to the ground. Yelling, Zyner blasted another twenty bullets out of his gun, trying to make sure the thing was dead.

"Medic!"

It wasn't any use, to call a medic even though the sergeant knew he was dead. Then, he saw another thing out of his eyes. Zerglings. Coming from behind his back. Streaming out of the Canal. The last image Zyner saw was the flames incinerating everything.

**At _T-34_'s crash site**

They suddenly stopped. Zerg, after one massive wave of Zerglings mixed with Hydralisks, suddenly stopped their assault. The ship was in imminent danger of being destroyed, and the Zerg suddenly stopped. _What's their next goddamn tactic!_ Jast thought. He poked his head out of the opening on top of the ship, looking at the barren landscape. Medics were rushing out and recovering dead bodies, as Nacdle ordered. No one wanted to see dead men's flesh being feasted on by Zerg.

Inside the dropship, dead and wounded men were everywhere. Jast had never seen so many casualties, most of them dead: heaps of men, piled on top of each other, filling the dropship with a stench that was unforgettable. There was no room to store them, and no one wanted to throw their dead comrades back on the field, unless they were out of room. Zerg were man-eaters.

There was a saying that all medics had when treating Zerg-inflicted casualties: You either died or survived fighting the Zerg. Wounded men are scarce. Jast didn't want that to be so true at that moment, staring at the men that had wounds: five in all, out of twenty-six casualties. One man was barely holding on to life, as he vomited blood from his mouth. His only wound was being _pricked_ lightly by an incoming spine. It showed how deadly Hydra's poison was.

The ICD of every man crackled again, lit up by a man's voice: "Everyone, look sharp, flying bogies are coming in to the west of you. Guardians. Several of them."

_Oh shit. We are so, so, dead._ Jast thought.

**Three kilometers from dropship crash site**

Kit watched from the trees as he saw three flying shapes of Guardians hover towards the dropship. The Overlords had suddenly disappeared after the wave of Zerg, and brought Ashley's comms. device back. He contacted Nacdle immediately, not that it mattered. Guardians were harder to kill than the famed Arclite siege tanks, had more armor, had more range, fired with more deadly accuracy than the tanks, and worst of all, they _flew._ Giant, lumbering, crab-like shapes, with heavy, almost impenetrable carapace with arms protruding from its sides, hovered in the air. As the backs of the giants crabs were turned toward Kit, he had an idea. _Suicidal, but an idea._ He loaded his gun.

**Inside Zerg Structure**

Ghost Espionage Agent McAllen was deep inside Zerg territory. _No pun intended,_ McAllen thought. He was "deep," probably twenty or so feet deep in the slimy insides of a Nydus Canal. It felt like one giant intestine, as he moved slowly in his costume, one hand grasping the stringy cord of flesh on the side of the structure, moving slowly. When the deluge of Zerglings, traveling in the liquid had came, he had stopped his activities, lowering his hands into his sick masquer and cradling his 9mm "Zerg Popper" pistol, ready to pop one of them dead if it came hurling at him. The Zerglings continued to race along the Canal system, not bothering to help (or eat) the apparently wounded Hydralisk on the side.

After the wave of Zerglings had cleared, the Ghost wondered if it would be safe enough to call in the men stationed at the ship. Hopefully, they were smart enough to station troops to check if the Zerg were launching an attack from the Canal. _If they didn't..._McAllen didn't want to see men get slaughtered. He had reached in his suit to get his ICD, but the Overlords were jamming the signals._ Damn._

He could now definitely feel the presence of the Cerebrate, Araq. It was a powerful, radiating energy that felt vibrant, as if every man that died strengthened the Cerebrate's wormy, sickly body. McAllen planned to crawl another five hundred meters before he figured he was in range of the Cerebrate. _You'll never know what hit you,_ he thought, repeating the slogan that Ghosts shared everywhere.

**At _T-34_'s crash site**

Each marine was equipped with a disposable SAML (Surface to Air Missile Launcher), strapped to his back, with two thirty centimeter long missiles that were used for shooting down air targets five hundred meters or lower. Nacdle, miraculously still alive, ordered five men of his squadron, Z-1B, to get on top of the ship and start firing away at the approaching Overlords. The gunners that manned the SHWs were severely depleted, two guns were utterly destroyed; a Zergling had completely chewed away the bore of the gun before another gunner blasted it.

"Load!"

Five marines, crouching on top of the ship, grabbed one of the two missiles they had and pushed it inside the SAML, and put it on their shoulders. Nacdle could clearly see the dark, crabby shapes of the Guardians, even without the electronic binoculars implanted in his visor. _Oh shit, we forgot about range..._The first ball hit the side of the ship, blasting a massive crater and spewing acid all over the side, corroding it to a dangerously thin state. The second ball, a green, massive ball of toxic slime, blew a hole in the side of the ship, as the marines gunners inside were thrown from their positions, killed or wounded.

"Start firing!"

Fire missiles arced upwards, straight for the Guardians. Just then, Nacdle could see dark shapes moving below the Guardians. Robotic like forms.

The missiles went short, falling only a few hundred meters from their targets. But a new halo of missiles came, from the silhouettes of the marines, in their robotic armor. Nacdle watched as a Guardian exploded, from the back, as several missiles arced into it and made the Guardian into a furious flaming body. It started to fall. The other two Guardians turned around, firing acidic balls, one after another, from their mouths, at the infantry. Nacdle watched as they were suddenly overwhelmed by another wave of Zerg.

**At _T-34_'s crash site**

Pfc. Kit Ashley had never felt so much adrenaline pumping through his body. It felt like a stim, but he knew it wasn't. It came because he knew he was going to die, and his body was rushing its last reserves to fight death a little longer.

Knowing that the Guardians were incinerate the troops by the Canal and in the ship, Ashley and his seven ALPHA Recon members and the firebats that were helping them had crawled out after the Guardians when their backs were exposed to them. They still had their SAMLs and missiles, and they would simply kill the Guardians once they stopped to fire on the ship. Kit had no idea how hard Guardians took to take down. He figured that six or so missiles each should kill it, but as his men and him launched their first volley, the missiles exploded almost harmlessly into the Guardians, like they were only pricking them. And then he heard rumblings. Rumblings of thousands of Zerglings running towards him.

Cursing, he launched another volley of missiles at the middle Guardian, one missile coming up right in the ass of the creature. Ashley would have laughed if he didn't knew he was about to die. The firebats were screaming as the other Guardians were blowing them up with the acid. A firebat squadron commander besides him exploded, chunks of armor and flesh spreading out in a wide vicinity as the Guardian launched ball after ball of acid.

The Zerglings reached the men. Ashley almost felt confident. The bullet left his gun and he felt that he could almost control its course, as it shattered the skull of an advancing Zergling. A Hydralisk looked at him, opening its chest cavity and launching a volley of spines. One struck in his left arm, another two in his leg. The sniper felt no pain. He took out the eyes of the Hydralisk with two shots, watching as it thrashed around, as he fell, blood draining from his legs into his mouth. Red covered him, and it was over.

**At _T-34_'s crash site**

Nacdle was pissed and shocked at the same time. He had not ordered Ashley to lead those men out- they still needed them for reconnaissance. _Why the hell did he just move out of position?_

The squadron commander knew exactly why: Ashley and the men had just saved their asses. The Guardians would have killed the men inside of the dropship immediately if it hadn't been for ALPHA-recon.

Fifty-three men dead. Nacdle watched as the Zerglings swarmed over ALPHA-recon, killing, slashing, bashing in the brains of men, mutilating them in an orgy of death. And death was coming right to the dropship.

"Rifles up!"

"Get your grenades out!"

Nacdle knew he was going to die.

The time was 32:02:56.

**Inside Nydus Canal/On space platform/Fighting in Aiur's atmosphere**

At this time, several things happened

Reaching in a place he thought was close enough to kill massive amounts of Zerg, McAllen stopped, clipped on a sensory scope on his C-10, and aimed, flicking the button on the side of his gun. A red, thin line appeared from the scope, marking the space ahead of him where the missile would land. He could feel the Cerebrate's presence up, above the ground very clearly, and he knew that the Zerg were firmly implanted and guarding it, unaware of what was to about happen next.

McAllen had seen tapes of an _Atlas-_class missile landing on a target. Nothing survived, nothing, in a five hundred meter to one kilometer radius. McAllen hoped that the marines and firebats had their suits fully enclosed around their bodies. Only CMC armor, which had full NBC, (Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical) protection could help stop the radiation from entering the men's bodies.

_"Nuclear launch detected." _The words, feminine, automatic, and sterile, echoed from the Command Center housing the IMBM, through every man's ICD, every ship, every unit that had a communications device. _Time to give back some of the destruction they've been giving us._ A timer, a hologram, appeared from the corner of McAllen's robotic eye, marking a ten minute countdown until the missile hit. 9:56 to go.

The Nuclear Missile Tactician Officer stopped reading his nightly paper from the holonews. He looked outside, through the window of the Command Center. The nuclear silo attached to the HQ had suddenly opened up, exposing the tip of a single _Atlas_ missile. It head straight up, into space, and head towards Aiur. _Mother of...they've done it! _The officer prayed it would get there in time.

The space battle intensified. Above Aiur's atmosphere, the formation of battlecrusiers and carriers was disintegrating at a light-rate speed, as the Zerg had renewed a vigorous attack, an all-out offensive at the allied forces. Monitors on the capital ships simply were overwhelmed by the load of data coming in from their sensors; Zerg were literally taking up every centimeter of space in the battle.

A wraith, damaged with the wings melted off by acid, slammed into a bloated Overlord, spreading chunks of flesh and metal. The jamming aboard the ships _Death's Head _and _Hyperion _stopped.

STO Walker only caught the last part of the warning: _-launch detected._ But he knew it could only mean one thing. He looked at the hologram map in front of him: a space platform holding twelve standard Command Centers, each one with a nuclear silo hooked up to it. One of the missiles, identified by a single, red dot cruising through space, was clearly headed to Aiur. It meant that a mass of Zerg was going to get killed very, very, soon.

"Commander!" Walker called over to Raynor.

"Goddamit Walker! We're fucking going to die here, don't give me this bullshit now! Holy-"

Raynor saw it too.

"Get two squadrons down there, get two wraith squadrons down where the missile is headed," Raynor said, quietly, and almost under his breath. "Whoever's launching needs some air support very fast."

Officer Jackie Andersen relayed the message to two fighter squadrons.

"Stork Leader and Black Prince, troops are requesting assistance on Aiur ASAP. Get your squadrons to positions H-5, H-6 immediately. Over."

"Roger that, _Hyperion._ We are disengaging and heading over now," said Black Prince.

8:54 to go.

**At _T-34_'s crash site**

Squadron commander Jones and the men at H-5 and H-6 positions had also heard the warning, since no Overlords ahead to jam communications; they were too busy directing their troops. He wasn't rejoicing. As Jones looked at the surge of Zerglings swallow ALPHA-recon and head over to them, along with two lumbering Guardians, he knew he didn't have very long to live.

Medical Corpsman Jast lifted a wounded marine by the shoulders up, wincing as he heard the cries of the marine.

"Sorry buddy, gotta get you out of the open."

The acid of the Guardian had made huge holes in the side of the ship, essentially melting armor as well as disrupting the eight marines that laid belly down, firing from the "bunker" slits. Most of those men died when the Guardian fired the acid; the metal had made a dent, slamming metal into the visors of the marines. The wounded and unwounded men on top of the ship were getting ready, getting any gun they could as the Zerg rushed towards them. Most of the heavy weaponry was gone, chewed up and destroyed by Zerg. Jast picked up a 9mm pistol that the wounded marine carried on his side, cocked it, and aimed at the approaching horde. _We are so, so, dead._

"Fire!" Nacdle screamed at the men that were fighting, less than half the original number of marines. A line of advancing Zerglings fell. The Guardians were close now, wanting to get accurate shots on the men below.

By the Nydus Canal, Hancock and his men were dragging their dead and wounded to the back of their formation, while maintaining a perimeter around the Canal. Marines had rigged the few meters in front of the structure with their last remaining grenades, to surprise any Zerg that would be coming out. Hancock and the other firebats were incinerating Zerg as they came out of the Canal. Grenades ripped other Zerg apart, tearing hard carapace from the organs of Zerg. But for every Zergling burst into orange flame, two more followed it from the Canal.

_Hopefully that Ghost isn't dead. Or well all be dead soon, _Hancock thought, as he looked at the display on the inside of his visor, measuring how much fuel he had left in his tanks. It kept decreasing at an amazing speed.

"We've got company from the other side!" A marine shouted, and then lifted his rifle to Zerglings that were overrunning the dropship.

Squad Commander Jones let his gun rip, pressing the trigger hard, holding his gun to his body, as did other marines. Besides him a soldier with a SAML launched a Hawkeye AA missile at the lumbersome Guardians. It exploded on impact with the carapace, showering bits of flesh on the advancing forces below. Then, all hell broke loose.

The first lines of Zerglings fell, dying from a wave of hypersonic bullets. The Guardians launched balls of acid, igniting organic grenades out of men, making them balls of exploding matter. The Zerglings scrambled over their dead, and met the marines head-on, like two armies of knights crashing into each other. Feral claws supported by spines against armor and lead.

Men gurgled their last dying breaths as they kicked, screamed, and shot Zerg. Nacdle, running out of ammunition for his C-14, pulled out his 9mm "Reaper" Pistol and shot several Zerg dead center, shattering their skulls. With the other hand he pulled out a clip of ammo from his leg pocket, and pushed it into his rifle as he ejected the old clip. With Zerg advancing on him, he threw his pistol at a Zergling's face; it yelped like a dog when it was hit. Then its companions and it were hit by a solid spray of lead.

An acid ball made a crater out of a pile of wounded marines that calmly shot their guns at Zerg, spraying their body parts in a grotesque manner, flipping arms, legs, and heads in the air.

Jast gulped, as he held his standard pistol in one hand, another Reaper pistol in the other. He picked off any Zerg that got too close to him, but he could see it was hopeless. Terran and Zerg forces were mixing together, and Jast could see marines were simply being overwhelmed at the amount of enemy forces thrown at them. Marines were separated into groups, then mauled to death or shot by spines.

He had set his chronometer to a ten minute countdown to detonation of the nuke.

Five minutes left.

**Entering Aiur's atmosphere**

Pilots called it the "shake and bake," where their crafts would enter a moment of turbulence from the atmosphere, as their ship would bounce around. The Storks and the Black Flight were heading towards the beleaguered marine and firebat positions that were protecting a single man for something they didn't know. All they knew was a nuke had been launched, and a nuke launching meant thousands of Zerg were going to die. Millions of them. For Captain Ander, it was a happy thought, as Aiur's atmosphere bounced his little fighter around.

And then he saw it: thousands, no, millions of Zerg, head every which way, being shot down by marines and firebats, but thousands more came on. Zerg were everywhere, with little metal glints appearing to be marines that were surrounded by Satanic forces.

Ander looked on his monitor, heading towards the positions H-5 and -6, but also trying to fight the feeling of guiltiness. While he had been safe battling Zerg flyers in space, the infantry was being slaughtered in a no man's land. He was supposed to provide air support for these fellows. _Damn._

"Alright Storks, here we are; look sharp for any Zerg flyers," Captain Jansen said. Ander looked below at H-5. _It's the crashed dropship! Seems like Lieutenant Nacdle did get his men out of there_. It also seemed like Nacdle and his men were getting slaughtered. The marines on and by the dropship were desperately fighting their way out of a huge Zerg encirclement, while firebats and marines close to the ship were _protecting_ a Nydus Canal. They flamed everything that came out of it up, but they weren't intent on destroying it. _What the hell?_

"Sir, uh, look out for any-" Ander was cut short by a hissing of static from his Captain's channel. He looked through his cockpit again. Jansen's wraith was being showered by spines of Hydralisks, and one had hit the engines of the fighter. It struggled to get control of it, was juking wildly out of control, finally smashing into a Guardian. Flesh and metal showered the forces below, as the fighter careened to the group, killing Jansen and taking several Hydralisks with him.

"Captain, captain, what the hell do we do?" Jonstone's voice broke through Ander's shock.

"What? I'm not leading this squadron."

"You are now."

Ander felt a rage broiling side of him. _They took away my home, my family, and now my commander._ Another profanity laced sentence followed.

"Follow me Storks. We're going to live up to our name."

The Black Flight was another crack squadron, led by the "Black Prince," Tommy Alexander. His two wingmates, "Black Spades" and "Black Heart," followed him as he triggered his missiles into the other Guardian. It exploded, giving Alexander a sense of satisfaction. Spades armed his air to surface missiles, triggering two of them at the mass of Zerg below, sending chunks of Hydralisk flesh into the air. The tide was turning.

The eight wraiths, painted black, flew in perfect formation as they provided air support the infantry so desperately needed.

"Black flight, this is lead. Heads up on the nuke explosion; it might tumble your bird around."

A chorus of voices followed. "Roger lead."

Ander was so intent on killing Zerg that he almost didn't hear the familiar voice that crackled through his comms.

"Captain Ander, that you?" It was Nacdle.

"Nacdle! How did you know it was me?"

"Your Wraith looked familiar. Keep us covered, we've got a few minutes before the nuke gets here."

"What's going on? With the firing of this missile and stuff? Has Command changed its plans?"

"You'll find out if we get out of here alive."

In the background, Ander could hear men and Zerg screaming alike.

**Near Jormungand Cerebrate Araq**

The missile flew up and into the center of the Zerg base. It could have not been a more direct hit.

Plumes of rapidly expanding fireballs of pure oxygen swept into the Zerg base, setting on fire anything that was in its way. Shrieks of Zerglings vanished under a thunderous roar of massive orange fireballs that engulfed the scene. Zerg in burrows melted, liquid flesh pouring and bubbling out of holes, as the skins of Hydralisks melted in the fiery inferno.

Jin watched as the missile detonated, blowing his cloak around, and producing a magnificent explosion that ripped everything into shreds. The towering Hive structure was reduced into a mass of blood and flesh; Zerg Overlords, their psionic signal gone, plummeted in dead balls of gore. Through all this, Jin could still feel the radiating surprise of the Cerebrate, now defenseless. It could only be destroyed by a Dark Templar's blades. Jin and his brethren ran to the Cerebrate before it could act.

With his eyes almost blinded by the explosion, Aragas ran inside the base. _Run to shame a Zealot, my brothers._

He could see the massive holes, soaked in blood and flesh, that were covering the deteriorating Creep. Everything was destroyed. Aragas felt the psionic signal Araq gave off, and sent out his own signal to the Cerebrate, along with a message: _Your crimes shall be avenged in a few seconds._

Then they saw it: a massive, sickly white worm, a Cerebrate quivering in its own skin. It had no defense, it could not fight, but it had succeeded in killing millions of Protoss. Aragas, Zami, and Jin simultaneously channeled their dark energy into their warp blades, extending them, and slashed at the worm. Again, and again, until the Cerebrate bled red, and died. And with it died millions of its minions. Around them, the few surviving Zerglings stopped, a total brain lock seizing control of them; they stood there, unable to move.

Aragas could feel his other brothers moving in, stealthily, as the Overmind and the remaining Cerebrates were in a comatose state, shocked by the destruction of one Cerebrate. Their servants, too, stopped, surprising any Protoss or Terran locked in combat with the creatures. Aragas could feel them stop, like each Zerg was in lockdown in a particular position while the Templar slipped past them. His fellow Templar slashed and hacked away at the other Cerebrates, leaving their minions helpless and dead under the psi-blades of Aiur's holy warriors. Revenge had come. _Now you have felt the fury of the Sons of Aiur!_

Zami knew better than to celebrate the hollow victory. He looked up, at the plateau where the Overmind had situated itself. _It will cost us many lives before we can kill it._ He heard the Overmind's psionic wrath as it called to its flying minions to retreat to the main Hive cluster, as it tried to grapple on to any Zerg warrior that it could, desperately trying to pull back the remaining forces. Terran infantry though, just a minute ago, helpless as they endured wave after wave of unending Zerg, were slaughtering mindless zombies of Zerglings and Hydralisk. But a shadow covered over the victory, as dawn was beginning to open its eyes and yawn.

Jin turned his cold blue eyes to a fiery red when he heard Zami's unprotected psychic thought.

_What do you mean, 'it will cost us many lives,' Zami? Cannot you not see? We have won?_

Zami shook his head sadly. _A hollow victory at best, my friend, for the Overmind awaits our fury. The battle has just begun._


	9. Chapter 8: Beginnings

Chapter Eight: Beginnings

_"This is not the end. This is not even the beginning of the end. But, perhaps, it is an end to the beginning."_

Sir Winston Churchill, (1874-1965), British Prime Minister, commenting on the battle of El Alamein

**Above Zerg Airspace at Ancient Xel'naga Temple, Aiur**

As commanders from both Protoss and Terran forces debated what their next offensive against the Overmind would be, scout forces uncovered the extent of the Overmind's infestation of Aiur.

Observer Scouting Drones, photomapping large areas, uncovered hundreds of fortified, immobile defenses surrounding the Overmind; most of the Spore and Sunken colonies had only been erected in the last twenty-six hours. The primary defenses laid on four large ramps leading to the plateau the Overmind was on. The ramps connected the plateau to four canyons, each one an individual path to each of the four ramps. Along the ridges of the canyons, immobile defenses were set up, while thousands of burrowed minions waited for an attack. Two of the paths to the ramps lead towards the growing southeastern Protoss base, while the other two lay towards the northwestern Terran base.

Upon reviewing the maps the scouts presented them, Praetor Fenix and Commander Raynor recognized the paths and ramps as potential dangers as well as valuable assets. Both the Terran and Protoss bases were set upon ground on level with the Overmind, but the four paths leading to the ramp and the Overmind were deep; ridges towered over the roads, and were easily defended natural defenses. But they were perfect for launching a huge, armored attack against the Zerg.

Fenix, Zeratul, and Raynor decided to present a strategy concerning the roads and the use of an armored attack to the council overseeing operations against the Zerg.

**Inside Protoss Nexus, Corinth Province, Aiur**

Major General Antony Dura had never been to a war room quite so diverse as the one he was sitting in. Unlike the cold, hard, metallic feeling and appearance of a Command Center, the Protoss Nexus was radiating a sense of genuine warmth. The table in the room was a tad too large for Dura's wiry frame, the chairs too angular, meant for Protoss commanders rather than a human. But all was cozy and well, shielding him for a time of the death and destruction outside.

The Protoss sat on the opposite side, a colorful parade in golden loincloth and robes, contrasting with their green, blue and red pebbled skin. Eyes glowing, they sat there, talking with their minds.

The Protoss had agreed to host a conference on their plan of attack against the Overmind in their headquarters. It was, after all, their planet, and they respectfully played host to the Terrans. Though, they showed remarkable hostilities to their other guest, the Zerg. It was easy to see why: Dura watched a large, revolving holo of Aiur's cities and defenses. Almost all of them were ruined, destroyed in a seemingly unending flood of a Horde, and in the middle of that death was the Overmind, enclosed in a protective shell in the middle of a plateau, with its minions in the Corinth province of Aiur. And surrounding it was hundreds of thousands of Terrans and Protoss, bound to a pact to stop the bloodthirsty Zerg from taking control of the whole galaxy.

Raynor, sitting in the middle with his commanders, was flanked by Dura, a representative from the Umojan Military Defense Forces; on Raynor's left was Commandore Jerry Mathos, an Umojan fleet commander. Other Terran generals from the Raiders were there as well. Dura had never seen so many high ranking officers in one room.

On the other side of a polished, mixture of wood and metal table were the Protoss, silent and enigmatic as usual, not opening their psychic conversations to Humanity. Dura noticed that when the Terrans filed into the golden room, the Protossian eyes all changed from a calm, cool blue to a red, fiery color, signaling a lively discussion ahead.

All of them, Executor and High Templar Tassadar of the Protoss Space Fleets, Prelate Artanis of the Praetorian Guards, Praetor Fenix of the Defense Legions, Praetor Zeratul, envoy for the Dark Templar, and Judicator Prefect Almashi sat with rigid silence, observing the impure, Khaydarin crystal floating in the center of the table, powering the display of their current situation. Tassadar stood up, observing the Terrans.

Tassadar rose.

_Welcome, fellow Terrans. I am High Templar Tassadar._

If the Major General could have bet his life on when Tassadar would have smiled, if would have been at his last sentence. Unlike most of the other Protoss commanders, he displayed a genuine sense of happiness to have Terrans fighting as allies, even if he did show it without a mouth. His booming, psionic voice made Dura wince in his mind.

Introductions between the two races were made. Both species spoke slowly, allowing each other to catch one's syllables and dialects, even though the languages of the two species were being translated by odd, glowing contraptions on the Protossian necks. Dura noticed the differences in dialects between Zeratul, the Judicator, and the Templar castes.

_Perhaps our species are not so different from the Protoss,_ Dura thought. Raynor had briefed the generals on Protossian caste systems, which divided each of the tribes into three classes: Templar, the warriors of Aiur, Judicators, the governing councils, and Khalai, workers and builders of the homeworld. Raynor had also briefed them on customs and military wares of their allies, since he had the closest contact with them.

An Executor, like Tassadar, as Dura had learned, was an equivalent to a senior military officer of Terran militaries, a fleet admiral. High Templar was Tassadar's other rank, but was a promotion based on the psionic powers and essence of the mind, rather than on seniority; it was a religious title. Praetor was a general-type title, who commanded legions, an Protossian army composed of five thousand Zealots and supporting equipment. Prelate was a rank below a Praetor, while a Prefect was a political title, an officer who approves and watches over what the Templar caste does for the Conclave, the ruling council for Aiur, composed of elders of the Judicator caste.

Dura had memorized Raynor's briefing word for word, and was to directed to report it to the Umojan Protectorate Government afterwords. _Maybe I should be a Prefect like Almashi,_ he wondered.

"And this is Major General Antony Dura of the Umoja Defense Forces," Raynor said, slapping Dura on the back in a effort to stop him from daydreaming.

Dura forced a smile directed at Raynor as he recalled what he was going to say to the Protoss, standing up and addressing them in a memorized, robotic term.

"The Umojan people and government expresses their gratitude for what the Protoss people have done in an effort to help us stem the tide of the Zerg. We are honored to be fighting in this alliance in...this conflict."

Dura did not want to say 'invasion' knowing better to invoke the fury of Protoss.

_And may Adun forgive us if this 'conflict' continues too long,_ Zeratul said, almost lazily. Almashi flashed her eyes at the ancient Templar, warning him to stay quiet.

_Let us begin our conference,_ Tassadar replied, intervening between the already feuding Judicator and Dark One. He pressed a button on the table, igniting another display, a holo of the Overmind's position. Dura held his breath, and stared at the holo. _How could this be? _The Overmind laid in its massive shell, directly in the center of a massive plateau. Surrounding it was hundreds of defending structures, and burrowed Zerg. An almost indestructible citadel. But around the plateau laid the Zerg's once invincible defenses: stumps and blasted craters of Hives, Lairs, Sunken colonies, and masses of dead flesh, of Zerg. And the dead Cerebrates.

After the battle to exterminate the Overmind's Cerebrates, the creature had pulled back as many of its minions as it could, but not before an estimated total of 2.2 million Zerg was extinguished under the lead and flame of Terran infantry. Most of the Zerg casualties came after the Cerebrates had been destroyed by the dark psi energies of the Shadow Hunters; the Zerg had simply stopped or run wild, making easy targets for the surviving infantry troops.

But the Overmind's defenses were not what Dura expected: there were too many Zerg and structures, even though thirty or so hours ago, the Overmind's protective shell was only the defending Cerebrates and their broods. Scouts had reported there was fewer than 10,000 Zerg defending the Overmind itself and most Zerg were defending the Cerebrates. Those had been destroyed. But now the plateau bristled with Zerg.

Raynor voiced Dura's question. "Tassadar, what the heck happened? I thought the Overmind...we killed most of its troops in an attack twenty-five hours ago. There's too many Zerg here...there's gotta be something wrong with the holo."

Tassadar shrugged, trying to imitate his human friend. _Your surprise is noted, Commander. The only reason that we can come up is that the Zerg spawned their force during the battle against the Cerebrates. Yes, we did slaughter millions of Zerg in that last attack. But you must remember the capacity of the Hatcheries around the Overmind. There are many of them, and Zerg can be spawned at an amazing rate; more so than our ability to call in reinforcements._

Artanis, the young Prelate, spoke up. _Commander Raynor, this extent of the Zerg brood is not the only infestation found on our homeworld. The Zerg infest several places when they invade, so if one of their clusters is destroyed, they can rely on others. We saw this on Char, Mar Sara, and Chau Sara. Now on Aiur they have done this. There are several broods in other provinces, along with their Cerebrates: in Antioch, Thessaly, and Lutetia, and they have already established dominance and infested the place. More Zerg are being brought through the warp time-shift void they initially used to travel here._

The Prelate spoke a hint of anger and impatience that Dura had heard from his own teenage son: arrogance masked his words. The Templar must be very young, indeed.

Commandore Jerry Mathos folded his arms on the top of the table and looked at Tassadar in his eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that this Overmind isn't the extent of the bloodsuckers? That we have to destroy more of its 'generals' assuming we can accomplish an impossible task of killing the main organ of the Zerg?"

_Your worries are just fleeting shadows, human, and you will not have to interfere with the other Zerg. Praetorian Guard forces are cleaning up the messes. _Almashi spoke up for the first time, her higher pitched voice and longer, thinner ropes of hair quivering at the way the human spoke to the Protoss. She did not try to hide her contempt for the 'worthless, warring creatures' at all.

_Prelate Artanis, is there something you would like to add?_ Tassadar said calmly. Dura felt as though Almashi was about to get a nasty surprise.

The young Protoss hesitated before answering. Dura knew that the Prelate belonged to a new tide of Protoss, one generation dynamic compared to the rest, a generation that Tassadar and Fenix were the leaders for. This wave of young Protoss belonged not to any caste or tribe, because they were intermixed; Artanis had a Judicator father and a Khalai mother. Although inter-caste marriage was accepted, only a few Protoss married with the other castes or tribes, feeling more bound to their own tribal heritage and customs. Artanis, Tassadar, and Fenix were the new generation, one to accept change and break the rigor of Khala's Laws, and seek peace with their darker cousins, the Dark Templar.

Artanis was hesitating because he commanded much of the Praetorian Guards, the elite red Ara tribe warriors, from the Judicator caste, who enforced the will of the Conclave. He was also a respected leader of the Templar. In short, he had come to good terms with the Templar and Judicator, and he was reluctant to displease the Prefect.

_The Praetorian Guards recently have released all dissident Templar that were opposed to the will of the Conclave, and they have been able to contain the Zerg broods to their original point with heavy casualties. However, we are currently unable to eradicate the broods completely, and furthermore, we will not be able to send these Guard Legions to help in killing the Overmind._

"So do you mean that big speech Aldaris gave us before we surrounded the bloodsucker meant nothing? He promised you Protoss some more guys, and now you mean that he can't send reinforcements?"

_Yes, Commander Raynor. There are no more reinforcements. Every legion we have is either at this province or defending other provinces._

"Jesus."

_What this means, Protoss and Terran commanders, is that we cannot besiege the Overmind forever. Already the Leviathan Brood in Lutetia is preparing an assault on the Guards Legions there. If they break through our weak defenses, it will be us that will be surrounded, not the Overmind._

Tassadar's grim words brought an unnatural silence to the room.

_What must we do?_ Fenix spoke up, his head encased in a solution of liquid. The Praetor looked pale, because the rest of his body was encased in a cold, metallic shell, and he curiously moved around in an odd manner, head spinning. Similar to the Dragoon exoskeleton, (though it bore no armaments), the robotic suit could be controlled through psionic emissions from the Protossian mind.

Almashi, with her fiery red eyes, spoke: _Our strategy is in place. The airborne assault against the Cerebrates to destroy key buildings and surround each Cerebrate and wait for the Fallen Ones to kill if worked the last time. Undoubtedly it will work again, against this infestation. A much bigger task force will be needed, and we now control the air above the Zerg. We will send sorties out to bombard the Overmind with our power. Once the defending structures and Zerg are annihilated, the Overmind will be easy targets for the Hunters. The Conclave and Judicator Aldaris have already approved such mission._

"I don't like it," Raynor said, bluntly, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

_May I remind you, human, this is _our_ world, not yours, and furthermore-_

_Silence, Judicator! Raynor, continue._ Tassadar's eyes were now a deep, red-purple. _He's pissed,_ thought Dura. Almashi's hair coils quivered with anger, but she sat still, like a statue.

"Ok, first of all, I've got 10,000 casualties from the last airborne assault. Out of just 17,000 men. You think I've got the manpower to commence this bullshit? I've got no reserves. Umoja is readying an defense against an expected Dominion attack, courtesy of Mengsk. They're not sending reinforcements. I don't have that many troops to launch a bigger operation, and I know you guys don't too."

Raynor cleared his throat before continuing. "Second of all, I've got 175,000 troops now. The Protoss have what, 600,000, here in this base? The Zerg have maybe between 700,000 to 1.5 million guys waiting to bite our asses off. If we kiss, say 'good-bye' and send off thousands of infantry and Zealots, we'll get slaughtered in there. It was pure luck we did what we did to the Cerebrates. And damnit...I don't want to rely on luck again."

The audience was listening closely, although not all with calmness. Almashi looked like she might explode. Zeratul wanted to spill something out; he was hiding something.

_So what do you suggest, Commander?_ The Executor's voice boomed loudly in Dura's mind, making him mentally wince. He was going to have a headache after the meeting.

"Three armored divisions that were supposed to be the reinforcements during the Cerebrate attack are sitting on their asses, gambling their wallets off. They ain't going nowhere without me, and I ain't going nowhere until this mess is cleaned up. I want to launch a frontal assault. My tanks can blast Zerg, while your armor can do the same thing. Praetor Zeratul and I have worked up our own model of what we want to do." He turned about to the Templar. Zeratul had his _Cholas_ hanging limply on the side of his face, unmasking the mouth that wasn't there. Zeratul brought up a map, presented from a bird's eye-view of the battleground.

In the center of the former Xel'naga temple, the Overmind laid, surrounded, in a circle by a growing mass of defenses. Four ramps with roads connected the plateau and the Overmind with the other plateaus, where the Terran and Protoss bases were. It was as if a giant, waterless moat surrounded the Overmind, while four canyons snaked to the castle surrounded by the moat. Like arteries, the ramps lead to four main sunken roads; ridges surrounding both sides of the paths, two going straight towards the Terran base and two towards the Protoss base. A criss-cross of smaller roads that grew from the main paths lead to ramps that connected plateaus to the lower-level roads.

_As you can see, Terran forces are north of the Overmind's plateau, which is a former site of a Xel'naga Temple. Protoss forces, where we are standing right now, are southeast of this site. There are four, winding paths that lead to the Overmind: two located near the Terrans and two located here. Commander Raynor and I want to launch a slow, massive offensive with our armor through these paths._

_Impossible, Praetor,_ responded Artanis, _These four paths are just the blocking points so Zerg cannot get in and out of the plateau. They have dug themselves in with massive defenses there. Furthermore, the paths are deep; cliffs surround these paths. They are canyons. Are you suggesting we travel along the deepest point of these canyons? It is a death trap._

Zeratul nodded. _You are right, Artanis, but we must launch an assault from some point. Both Terran siege tanks and our Reavers work well when massed in groups, against massed units. The Zerg are expecting us to attack from these four paths. They will launch assault after assault on us. But we will be too grouped and less spread out for them to do damage on our units. Meanwhile, infantry and light armor will spread to these smaller paths-_ Zeratul pointed to smaller paths coming off of the four main roads, _-because they will lead to plateau that will enable us to gain access to the Overmind. Soon, the Overmind and the Zerg themselves will by surrounded by a massive ring of our troops. Slowly we will advance, choking off the Overmind's infestation piece by piece, until nothing more is left than the entity itself._

_And how do you know that the Zerg will not wear us down, Dark One? They spawn quickly. They will be able to launch assault after assault on us, until all we are is dust in the wind._ Almashi clearly didn't like the plan.

_Can you not see, servant to the Conclave, that we must do exactly what you just said. Let them wear us down, for they will be worn down as well. We have our fleets. From the four paths we can surround the Overmind until there is no chance to escape. Our artillery will wear the structures and Zerg down, and we will strangle them until the Overmind has only a foothold of territory of our planet left. This is the only way to stop this infestation. This must work, for the future of Aiur and the galaxy is at stake if we do not prevail._ Zeratul sat down.

Almashi fell quiet. The other commanders nodded in agreement, as Tassadar, looking at Raynor, nodded once, to commend him for a job well done. Raynor returned the favor.

_It seems Zeratul and Raynor's plan has won us all over. We will begin briefing out tacticians and troops in two standard hours. However, we have another matter to deal with. Artanis, do you have the Guards Legion in place at Thracia?_

The young Prelate's face fell, and his eyes turned to a sad, azure blue. _Yes Executor. Everything is in place there. They are guarding it._

_And Zeratul, is the honored Matriarch ready to accept us?_

_By Adun, she is. I cannot...I cannot comprehend what we are doing. But for our people's sake, it has to be so._

Almashi suddenly looked at Tassadar with a fearful expression. _What the hell is going on? _Dura wondered.

_Tassadar, what are you planning?_

Tassadar looked away, to a window facing the Overmind. _Ever since this...pestilence came to Aiur and laid waste to our cities, our people, our tradition and heritage, I realized that it is no use to fight here, on Aiur. We would all be massacred. Therefore, I have had Artanis secure a warp gate to the Dark Templar's homeworld, Shakuras._

_Leaving this place that the Gods put us in? Are you crazy, Tassadar? This is our world, and we must defend it to the death. _Almashi extended her psi blades, smashing a hand on the table with anger. _We cannot leave. We must defeat the Zerg here, once and for all._

_And bring death to all of our people? We have already said: The Zerg numbers are too great. Even if the Overmind is destroyed, there are still a vast flood of Zerg here. Cerebrates will take control and kill the rest of our people. Do you understand me? There will be no more Protoss left if we stand and fight to the death."_

_The Conclave will not approve of such matters!_ Almashi was desperate now.

Dura looked at the two Templar. _She's denying it. She doesn't want to go. She just wants to deny the fact that there is no hope for them here._

Fenix made an odd, disapproving sound in his throat. _The Conclave. Have you any notion where the Conclave is now, Almashi?_

Silence greeted his question.

_Half of the elders are dead. The rest are holed up with the remainder of Aldaris and his forces at Ceuta. The Conclave cannot do anything us for anymore._

Tassadar looked at the Protoss in the room, his position on leaving Aiur firm. _We will leave in twelve planetary cycles if we are defeated here, sooner if we win. We are not abandoning our world, Children of Aiur, we shall only take a leave. We shall come back with fleets and legions to crush the Zerg, and then rebuild it._

"Well, I guess we'll be going too," Raynor said, nonchalantly. Almashi glared daggers at him, but didn't open her mind, to him to give her opinion of humans.

_Began debriefing all units of this coming operation. Let our actions speak now, in due time._ Swiftly, Tassadar exited the room. Other Protoss and Terran counselors followed.

As Dura and the other commanders filed out of the Nexus, an aide handed him a holopad. On the screen were all 144 companies that fought against the Cerebrates, along with their statistics of dead, wounded and missing, beginning from the least number of casualties. On the top was Zulu-1. Dura pressed the screen, showing more facts about Company Z. He nodded. Zulu would make an excellent spearheading team for the upcoming assault.

**Terran Base Camp, five kilometers from Zerg outer defenses, Aiur**

At base camp, northeast of the Overmind's citadel, a mass of milling men and machines, fresh with victory, relaxed. Hundreds upon hundreds of hastily constructed barracks, each holding a full company, spread across the vast Aiuran landscape. Giant hangers, holding damaged starships, starfighters, and other ships of the Terran fleet loomed overhead of the barracks. The Overlord scouting the base noted this.

At intervals, missile turrets stood silent guard against any ambush against the camp, and the perimeter was guarded by a defense of bunkers and tanks. COMSAT stations pinged away for any unwelcomed guests.

Captain Nacdle strode to Zulu's barracks. Many of the squadron commanders that had landed on the Zerg Creep had been promoted because of their impossible feat of helping to staunch a flood of Zerg. Unlike Nacdle though, most commanders did not live to see their promotion.

Nacdle's promotion gave him charge of Z Company's 120 marines. With that command came the duty to train fifty-eight of Zulu's footsoldiers, replacements of the dead marines lost against the Zerg. Most of the replacements were mercs, or other "low quality" troops that had been recruited or paid for service.

At Nacdle's request, the armory officer had equipped the company with light CMC-300 armor and high velocity, heavy spikes instead of the magazine rounds used for the C-14, thinking they might be useful against the next Zerg attack.

First lieutenant Adam Jones looked in disgust as Nacdle barked orders for the marines training.

"Look at him. Fucking merc strolling around like he's a commander." He closed the door, sitting on his bunk with a dejected look.

Second lieutenant Allison Carter looked from his top bunk, lying down and gazing at the dark ceiling. Most marines had taken the break to catch up on some precious sleeping time before having to go through constant exercises and drills Nacdle made them do. His own squadron, Z-1B was put to the test in defending an almost indefensible computer-simulated position as they met attack after attack against artificial intelligence Zerg forces.

"If you two could just duke out your troubles, then you wouldn't have to mind so much about him," Carter said. "I've seen them merc boys fight. They don't go down 'till they've taken a couple Zerg with them. You got me, sir? Let it go."

Jones shook his head. "That guy is up to something. I can feel it. It's not because he's a merc that I hate him...it's because he doesn't act like a shitty-ass merc." Jones pointed outside, where Nacdle was verbally berating a new company member about smoking. "He's different, Nacdle."

Carter resumed trying to sleep. "Let me give you a piece of advice, sir. Get some rest." Jones turned around to look at Carter's back. "It's gonna be a long battle, next time we're out there."

Jones didn't respond, but opened the door and went out. Immediately, he was joined by Nacdle, whose looked calm and composed as usual. "Sir, what's-"

"-our objectives, lieutenant?" Nacdle smiled. _It's not the first time he's read my mind, _thought Jones.

"Strafing and bombing runs by capital ships and starfighters begin in thirty-six hours. We'll be getting the air support we needed this time. In fifty-six hours, we proceed to path ALFA on foot towards the Overmind. We'll take a fork on the road to a ramp that leads up to a ridge defended by Zerg. Our mission is to destroy any Zerg on that ridge and take that piece of the plateau, and hold it. And no, we won't take part in operations against the Overmind, but we'll see it when it's destroyed."

"No dropships then? What's our support?"

"No dropships, we're walking the distance. We've got two armored companies helping us take the ramp; Zulu-2 and Zulu-3. Two is a squadron of four M-28A4 Goliath Infantry Support Walkers, and three is composed of two M-25A2 Arclite Siege Tanks. Any questions?"

"No sir."

"Good, go and brief the men." Jones didn't salute when he left Nacdle back with his men. Nacdle didn't seem to notice.

**Inside COMSAT Station Number 2, nearby Terran encampment, Aiur**

The young officer on duty yawned as he looked at the screens for any possible Zerg threat. His job was to set off the alarm if any Zerg were trying to invade the massive Terran base camped northeast of the Overmind. It would be a disaster if the Zerg could wreak any havoc to the base; more the half of the battlecruisers and starfighters were being repaired in hangers inside the encampment. Any large scale attack could seriously damage the ability for the fleet to provide support to the infantry and armor below, not counting also what the Zerg could do to thousands of sleeping men resting after a massive battle.

_Sleep,_ the officer thought, _is something I need to get more of._ The man had been on duty for the past sixteen hours, since a shortage of officers were on duty. The man resisted closing his eyelids, as a firm hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Colonel! Reporting for duty, sir!" The man got up from his chair and gave a tired salute.

"At ease, officer." The colonel handed the drowsy man another cup of Khaf. "Thank you sir," the officer said, inhaling the rich aroma of beans grown in his native Umoja.

"Anything on the screens?"

"No sir, not for the past sixteen hours I've been on duty." The officer put particular emphasis on the words _hours _and _duty._

"Well, thirty more minutes, and then someone will fill in. Carry on."

"Yessir."

The colonel left the circular, cramped COMSAT station, to the more spacious command center attached to it. _Probably to get some sleep,_ the officer thought bitterly. The officer's eyes half-closed before he snapped them open. Night was already here, and the liquid Khaf only slowed the instinct for sleep. Slowly but steadily, the officer's eyes closed, as the screens began to illuminate with Zerg.

**Terran Base Camp, five kilometers from Zerg outer defenses, Aiur**

Underground, the silently tunneling, were dozens of Zerg Drones. Possessing a rudimentary intelligence, the Drones were best doing menial, slave-like tasks. One recent research group, funded by the extinct Confederate Marine Corp, suggested that every Zerg warrior was supported by five of the large, dull breed of Drones. This ratio showed how well every warrior, down to each Zergling, was cared for: by Drones who did tasks as providing food and nourishment for the Zerg, gathering resources, and morphing into basic Zerg structures. Tonight, they were tunneling for an ambush.

A hundred feet below, Drones dug with an unnatural fervor, almost as if they were stim-paked marines; with their large front claws, they dug through earth, as Zerglings, hundreds of them, followed behind.

By the time alarms were sounding, it was too late.

Captain Nacdle was already sleeping as Zerglings, shrilly screaming, ran past Zulu's barracks, heading for something else. Groggily, he woke up. _Shit, what's going on..._he watched as a dozen Zerglings sprinted past his window.

"Mother of...get your guns, get your guns!" He flicked on the lights, waking dozens of sleepy marines as he shouted. Each one voiced his own opinion on the executive officer waking them up in the middle of the night, mumbling curses as they woke.

"What's happening, sir?" Carter ran breathlessly, carrying his heavy rifle.

"We've got company. Zerglings all over the fuckin' base."

"Zerg, sir?"

"Look Carter, get you and your squadron ready, and then head over towards the main hangers. Alert all the squad leaders and get their asses over their quick."

"We're retreating?"

"No goddamit, the Zerg are heading over there." He pointed to his squad. "Let's go."

Marines were waking up to the screeching sirens of an alert, and quickly they grabbed their guns and rushed outside, thinking another drill was on. Sparse groups of infantry witnessed thousands of Zerglings running past them, to the hangers where precious air support for ground troops were docked. At intervals of ten, Zerglings scrambled out of the dozens of holes dug by drones, and scurried into the Terran base.

**Protoss base, southwest of the Overmind**

At the Protoss camp, photon cannons acting as sentries were overwhelmed at the number of targets heading towards the armor of the Protoss, as Zerglings emerged out of holes out of the ground.

Heavy, mechanical Reavers, off-line, were met with claws of Zerg, as Dragoon exoskeleton suits, lying in rows, were chewed into pieces by voracious beasts. Zealots unsheathed their psi blades, extending them to kill the hundreds of Zerglings that had gotten through. As Zeratul ended the life of one Zergling that was ripping a Reaver's thick armor, he could only think of one word: _Ambush. _It was the perfect way to disrupt the upcoming assault on the Overmind.

**Terran Base Camp, five kilometers from Zerg outer defenses, Aiur**

At the Terran base, officers screamed at their men to get up, as other marines outside fired at the wave. Zerglings stumbled and tripped, but a flood of red Zerg approached unhindered to the hangers, unaware of the brethren that had fallen.

Inside, they found the targets they were looking for: rows and rows of Wraith Superiority fighters, each one a dead weapon unable to move as the Zerglings approached. Hundreds of feral claws tore at the ships, fragile metal armor sliced at again and again, until only shreds of fighters remained. Other Zerg disabled engines, tore at cockpits and weaponry, making mechanical skeletons out of ships.

Marines rushed in, some clad in only light fatigues, to witness Zerg exploding tank shells in an armory. A deadly chain reaction followed, as shells on racks implode on each other, sending a massive inferno through the building, consuming man and Zerg alike.

Jones, who was by one hanger, didn't' know how many Zerg he had mowed down when he heard an storm of superheated air rush past his body, knocking him to the ground. Zerglings sprinted past him. They had only one goal in mind: make sure the Terrans stay grounded if they were foolish enough to attack Overmind. The lieutenant looked up, blinking away sweat and blood. Zerglings continued to run past him, as one grinned devilishly at his face.

Obeying orders, second lieutenant Allison Carter led his squad into a hanger bay. Opening the back door, he saw the carcass of a battlecruiser, gutted and destroyed under the machete claws of Zerglings. It was hacked into unrecognizable pieces, engines ripped away, and armor scratched until the frame of the ship was the only thing left.

In the interior, the battlecruiser had a stench of blood mingled with death. Zerglings not only killed the ship, they killed the crew inside of it, as Carter and three men cautiously walked into an egress into the cruiser. Officers were ripped apart in their sleep, crewmembers hacked into pieces. A massacre. Carter felt that familiar feeling of vomit come through his throat.

Overhead the Terran base, a Wraith patrol noted the odd fires seeming to spring alive in their camp; fueling a raging inferno that marked an armory. A firestorm was consuming the base.

Death and Zerg claimed more victims again.


	10. Chapter 9: Apocalypse Now

Chapter Nine: Apocalypse Now

_"At my signal, unleash hell."_

General Maximus, _Gladiator_

**Protoss Task Force, entering road to Overmind**

Above, the Observer watched with interest at the mass of Zealots and armor entering the one of the two canyons that began at the Protoss base. Thousands of Zealots in golden armor, highlighted with red, green, and blue tips, moved as rain splattered on their bodies.

A thousand paces lead the armored, deadly snake of Protoss into ridges encrusted with Zerg defenses, on either side of them. Zerg bristled, almost jeering at the Firstborn to come and fight.

A large group of Reavers, caterpillar-like robots, shot balls of energy simultaneously. Instantly, the Scarabs formed into one, rolling itself onto the steep walls of the canyon and up. Detecting the Zerg on the top, the Scarab broke, releasing a torrent of expanding energy into the fray. Zerg flesh became atoms, and atoms lingered in the moisture soaked air for a millisecond before they split into molecules, and molecules disappear into nothingness. Hydralisks snug in their burrows vanish, and Sunken colonies meant for ambushing unsuspecting warriors evaporate as the armored snake moves slowly to the next targets.

Zealots rush forward, intent on their next targets, slowly moving towards the Overmind. Scouts, Arbiters, and carriers blasted at more Zerg positions above, as Zerglings cringed inside their burrows. Slowly, the Protoss rage and fury came a step closer to the nemesis. Rain and blood splattered the ground.

Losses of valuable equipment weakened the allied forces, though it did not hinder the planned operation. Terran forces, ambushed by thousands of Zerglings emerging from the underground, lost a large portion of siege tank shells, used for breaking up massed enemy attacks. Dozens of starfighters, mainly the C/F-17H Wraith and A-3 Gravedigger were broken beyond repair by Zerg claws. Two _Behemoth_-class battlecruisers were damaged badly as well, no longer ready for the call of duty as Zerglings mangled their crews. Even the Protoss, who were well aware of the danger of ambushes, were caught with their psi blades down as dozens of Reavers and armored exoskeleton Dragoon suits were mutilated beyond repair, giving _Khalai_ workmen more duties.

Tassadar and Raynor, the respective supreme commanders of the allied camps, knew they could not wait any longer to end the siege of the Overmind. Already, broods in other Aiuran provinces were working hard battling Protoss forces. Loss of equipment was acceptable, even though the armories of the Protoss and Terran were already severely depleted.

As the Terran and Protoss armored columns, supported by their fleets, marched into the four roads, highways to the Overmind. They knew the dangers of being undersupported by armor. Nevertheless, companies like Zulu and Yankee marched into the battle.

**At Terran designated road ALFA, some kilometers southwest of the Overmind**

Spearheading an assault meant being the first to enter the road. At a signal, an armored convoy of marines, firebats, tanks, armored personnel carriers, and infantry support vehicles rumbled to life, entering the canyon-like path. Columns of lightly armored marines lead the way in blue coated CMC-300 suits, marching in the damp, wet Aiuran monsoon season.

Like the Protoss, the Terran armor encountered their first redoubt only a few hundred meters upon entering ALFA. And, like the Protoss, the defense of Spore and Sunken colonies were poorly defended by Hydralisks, and long range Zerg weapons were no where to be seen. The M-25 Arclite tanks dug in, lifting two massive "feet" on both sides of the tanks and ramming them securely in place in the moist Aiuran ground. A wave of shells, superheated and dense, were fired. Colonies became smoldering wreckage of Zerg waste, as the heat alone from the shells melted the hardened carapace of Zerg buildings. Hydralisks were unaware of a massive foray of tanks, APCs, and infantry bearing down, as the Overmind's fleets of flyers were being decimated by flotillas of Wraiths and battlecruisers.

Dozens of Hydralisks melted instantly in their burrows, in liquefied slogs of flesh when tanks, supported by a scanner sweep of a COMSAT station, found the hidden predators. Zerg who did respond to the defense of the colonies were mutilated by concentrations of high-density titanium bullets, fired from Zulu.

As the firefight subsided, companies of marines, followed by their supporting artillery, moved up the ramp, onto the plateau above, exiting ALFA path like a car does through an exit ramp when leaving a high speed highway. The commanding officer gave a thumbs up signal at Nacdle, who nodded, as he saw the man kick the carcass of a Hydralisk. _Now if the rest of the ramps could be this easy,_ he thought.

Like arteries, smaller ramps that all lead to the Overmind's bastion-like plateau ran in mazes at the battleground. Tassadar and Raynor decided to capture each of the ramps, securing high ground, and using the troops to encircle the Overmind. The rest of the massive convoys would enter the four larger ramps that were the closes to the Zerg entity, effectively sealing off any hope of a breakthrough by Zerg. But the Overmind watched and waited, content on letting the ignorant Terran and fury driven Protoss get closer. For the hundreds of thousands of Protoss and Terran troops closing in, the Aiuran monsoon's refreshing rain would be the last peaceful thing they would feel before the storm set in.

Lieutenant Jones opened his visor, looking up, awed by the sight of dozens of starfighters and bombers flying overhead. Larger, slower shapes of battlecruisers and other capital ships trailed slowly, all heading for their sorties over the Overmind's main defenses on the plateau.

Wings of Mutalisks and Scourge came to meet the fleet, followed by a declining number of Overlords. Jones had chatted with Wraith pilots back at the camp, where they joked about something called "Overlord Hunting," which was essentially picking off the giant, bloated, brain shaped creatures one by one. But most of the Overlords today were clustered around the disappearing number of Hive clusters around the Overmind, seemingly waiting to do something.

As the two fleet battled only a few kilometers above and ahead of him, Jones watched, followed by his squadron of men. The ships and flyers were fighting just like the massive space battle during the Cerebrates attack, but the Terrans were not as overwhelmed as they were up there. But the ships and Zerg were a lot closer to home. Jones didn't like the idea that a flaming Wraith or broken Muta could streak down and ruin his day. And the thought of having an entire battlecruiser crash down on the slow convoy was even worse.

_Damn Nacdle! We should've picked the option to ride on the APCs. _A squadron of Rhydon Armored Personnel Carriers had been assigned to Zulu's men, but Nacdle, as company commander, turned the offer to ride in the clanky, clumsy vehicles, citing only that Zulu could run faster on foot leading the pack. _Yeah, right, _Jones thought, as he turned around, looking at the armored line of men and vehicles. They were probably dragging the whole army assigned to ALFA down. The honor of a company leading a whole task force into battle, like Zulu was, did not comfort Jones. For him, it was a death sentence: if Zerg attacked, they would attack the front, straight towards Zulu.

Further up the column, Nacdle smiled as his psionic mind picked up several derogatory mutters about him from Jones.

_You'll find out why we aren't in the coffins on wheels soon, _he thought, as he listened to a marine complain.

"It's like this, Captain," Corporal Deek Samson said, hoisting his gun. "The more we're walking and not taking any casualties from the bitches we're fighting, the more shitty I feel, cuz Zerg ain't nowhere to been seen, and we're just cranking their buildings into Zerg heaven. So the closer we get to the Zerg boss, the more my kidneys start to act up. Now, don't you think that the Zerg are gonna launch some massive assault on us once we get close enough? Cuz if they do, my pants are going to be springing leaks ten feet high. That's all I have to say about this whole goddamn mess."

"I've got your point, Corporal. But all you got to do is remember this," Nacdle said, pointing to the tanks. "Stay close to the armor. Watch them do the dirty work. See the fireworks from our ships? And once we get close enough to the Overmind, then we'll worry. And also, don't mess up, ok?" He turned closer to the young, recent recruit of Zulu. "Because if you do, we're all fucked. Remember that."

Tanks, seeing another infestation of Zerg by another minor ramp, dug their "feet" into the ground, to prevent the recoil of the massive shock cannon from blasting the tanks apart. Another wave of incoming shells decimated the colonies guarding the ridge. This time, Hydralisk unburrowed as a supporting Overlord coordinated the attack. Marines, walking on the side of the armor, tripped and fell as spikes poked through their armor. Then the Zerg warriors suddenly became topless, as Infantry Support Vehicles nicknamed "Goliaths" spewed rounds from their twin autocannons, separating torsos from tails. Hydralisk tails, like worms, wriggled their life out as the rain pounded above.

Teams of infantry, accompanied by armor, rumbled slowly onto and up the ramp, to the plateau. Another successful exit and ridge taken, as the encirclement of the Overmind was almost complete.

Jones breathed a sigh of relief as the convoy got smaller and but faster. Much of the infantry and armor were already setting up positions around each Hive cluster guarding the Zerg entity, securing more points with help of air support. Two more ramps awaited ALFA task force. One was the exit ramp Zulu would take to secure their designated position. The rest of the convoy would exit the main ramp.

And then what? Jones didn't know. The only thing he knew was that the Zerg were going to take a hell of a beating.

**Protoss Task Force, traveling on road to the Overmind**

To the Terran troops that had survived against the Protoss, they were known as "Zealots." Furious, deadly, and mighty, Zealots were feared as much as they were deadly. Their melee weapons, deadly psionic blades that could easily melt metal and carapace alike, were powered by only the Zealot's mind. If the Protoss psyche was ready to fight, they could channel the deadly blades from their imagination into reality, augmenting and decreasing the length of the blades that extended from their wrists.

Legions of these honor-bound, ferocious Templar were massing against the Overmind, streaming through ramps and two roads connecting the Protoss base to the plateau where the creature lay. And with them streamed a long road of their armor: _Nas'tal_ Dragoon warriors, Reavers, and even High Templar who could channel the most arcane and lethal psionic powers.

Ramis, a Zealot of the _Itas_ Legion, calmly used his melee blades to slice the abdominal of a Zergling open, as he converged up a ramp. Behind him, a Dragoon walker unsheathed a bolt of anti-particle energy, banishing a Hydralisk's existence from their homeworld. Below, in the canyon deep road, legions of Protoss, golden yellow armor contrasting with the dark days of the monsoon season, advanced upwards and forwards to other ramps, streaming as one long, deadly snake.

Ramis looked further up the ramp. Zerg structures were being wasted by a knot of Reavers, as Zealots provided escort by fighting the Zerg who were almost willingly wanting to die.

_Are the Zerg getting soft?_ Ramis asked to a fellow warrior, almost incredulously, as he swept off the legs of another Zergling.

_We must be getting better at this,_ Daki, a _Nas'tal _warrior Ramis was cooperatively working with said. His pale head enclosed in a liquidy solution swiveled, and he concentrated an anti-matter particle at the legless Zergling. Instantly, solid carapace was converted into atoms of carbon and nitrogen, as the Zerg was diminished into a pile of nothingness.

As he moved onto the ramp, Ramis looked at the wide plateau stretching for kilometers around; as Zerg and Protoss already on the plateau did battle. Ships, both of Protoss and Terran design, moved fluidly against Zerg counterparts, the hundreds of colonies that were covering the plateau's ground, which had consumed what nutrients the fertile soil had to give. Ramis narrowed his eyes as he saw Terran troops move up their respective ramps, already as close to the Zerg beast as _Itas_ Legion was.

_Those Terrans are advancing on the Overmind as fast as we are, _Daki noted, looking at the siege tanks and troops guarding a ridge, on the opposite side of them. Separating the Protoss and the Terran was a wide expanse that made up the plateau; on it were pot holes where Terran bombers missed their marks, and the carcasses of Zerg structures and troops.

_Terrans! They fight with weapons that mutilate the essence of life itself, shredding flesh as if it is a toy. They harbor no respect for life itself._

_And you say we do, Ramis?_ Daki watched with Protoss amusement as Ramis neatly ended a life of a lone Zergling with a blow to the head.

Ramis didn't answer his question, but instead looked at the already darkened, rain-heavy sky, towards the Overmind's massive fortifications.

_Look,_ Ramis said, pointing towards the Overmind itself. A cluster of dark clouds hovered above it, moving towards _Itas_ Legion and the four canyon paths at a quickening pace.

_Storm front moving in, _Daki responded, though he noticed the doubt in his own thoughts. He swiveled his head around to get a better look at it.

_No,_ Ramis said. His psionic message came like a hiss. _Zerg. They have lured us in and are launching their own attack._

**Above Zerg airspace**

Captain Tommy Alexander led the 252nd "Black Flight" Wraith squadron. His squad were painted a pitch black, melting perfectly in with the dark horizons that hung over the battlefield. They were carrying out a sortie against the Zerg.

Their job was to protect the slow, lumbering "Gravedigger" aircraft, ugly, blunt nose things that carried heavy payloads of "Zerg Buster" ordinance under its massive wings.

Alexander's eyes narrowed as he looked through his cramped cockpit window. Another storm front was moving in rapidly. But his one seemed too fast, too sudden, materializing out of nowhere, and heading directly towards the Terran/Protoss assault.

"Black Prince, Black Prince, this is Bravo flight. You looking at those clouds, squad leader?"

"Roger, Bravo-oh-one. Ever seen anything like it?"

"No sir. I'm not much of a gambler, but I'd bet anything out friendly neighborhood Zerg just kinda got active again. Think our bombing woke them up?"

"Looks like it's so," Alexander muttered. He flicked his weapons to life.

"Alright, Black Flight. Time to _par-tay._ Lock your missiles on the Zerg coming this way and charge up those lasers."

The clouds moved faster towards them. Up ahead, Bravo flight dropped their payloads of "Buster" bombs, blasting another string of undefended, helpless Zerg defenses, only a few hundred meters away from the Overmind's final fortifications.

The clouds moved past the ships, Hundreds of dark shapes, without wings, floated with the space surrounding them, not sparing a glance to the menacing starfighters with hook-tipped missiles. Communications between the Wraiths broke down into vulgarities:

"Holy shit, what the hell are those things?"

"What the hell?"

"Mother of god!"

It was Alexander who realized that the new type of Zerg flyers, small, fast, fleshy organisms that had tusks sprouting out of their mouths, weren't trying to kill him or his flight. They were all heading straight towards the ground troops.

"Lead, have we ever been briefed on these things?"

For a second, the Black Flight Leader was speechless. Then he targeted a missile at one heading towards him.

"Yep. They're called Zerg." He triggered his missile.

The streak of the Gemini missile was too fast for the naked eye to catch, but the Zerg flyer was even faster. From its mouth, the thing vomited a green, liquidy _goop._ The missile halted suddenly, hanging in the air for a millisecond before plunging to the ground in a steep dive.

The cloud of strange, new Zerg moved forward, sending a wave of panic through Black Flight.

**Near the Overmind, low orbit**

Aboard the bridge of an _Aerosmith_-class assault cruiser, the captain of the ship watched with nervous satisfaction as forward batteries blew away large chunks of grotesque flesh from the head of a Spore colony.

Similar to Bravo flight, the cruiser's job was to clear out any random colonies still left on the Overmind's plateau that a stream of Protoss and Terran troops were entering. Infantry and armor blundering into some stray Sunken colony or wasting time on killing a Spore colony was something command didn't want its troops to deal with, so several ships were assigned the task of clearing out anything the bombing runs missed.

The captain, as he looked around in the bridge, noticed his crew was dead tired; they had been destroying Zerg for a few hours now, and had used up almost all of their rationed ordinance. He frowned as he looked at the navigation officer looking at something. The man was looking at something on his screen, perplexed.

"What's wrong, lieutenant?"

"Bogies sir. Hundreds of them, heading towards ALFA and BETA ramps, as well as Protoss troops. They should be passing into our point of view now."

The commanding officer turned around, watching as groups of Overlords hovering past his light, spindly ship. The captain's frown deepened. Overlords hadn't shown any kind of activity since the fireworks started going off; they were content with cowering near the Overmind or directing failing resistance at the snakes of Protoss and Terran troops. The jellyfish shaped creatures usually jammed signals and communications in groups of ten, but these clustered in groups of fifty, so they weren't being the pesky things they looked like.

A single shot would kill four of five of them, since they were clustered so closely, and the captain was tempted to score more kills. He thought better of it, knowing his payload of missiles was depleted, as well as the energy used to power laser batteries.

"Looks like that group of 'Queens' we passed a few minutes ago weren't the only thing the Zerg are sending," the navigations officer said, with a bit of a grin. "The Zerg are so defeated their sending their noncombatants into battle!"

A science vessel team had identified the tusked, black cloud of creatures for the ship, but the commanding officer shook his head when the captain asked what they could do. The captain was perplexed. What the hell were the Zerg doing?

The Overlords passed the ship.

The captain did not realize the danger of it; he had been on duty too long. In fact, much of the Protoss/Terran forces had been lured into a serenity they could not feel, as they plundered deep into the Zerg territory, easily slaughtering any defending Zerg with light casualties. The Overmind knew this, knew that the Protoss, with their unquenching fury and their Terran allies would penetrate deep into his dominion. But he held his troops back, luring the allies into a huge trap that was starting to form. Overhead Aiur, the storm grew in ferocity.

**At AFLA Road, approaching exit ramp for Zulu**

The gunner of a M-21 Rhydon Armored Personnel Carrier knew something was awry when he heard the unmistakable sound of hard flesh hit the flat-topped APC. He got up from his seat behind the driver, slowly unscrewing the hatch on top of the vehicle, and poked his head for a look.

A moment later, he fell back, headless. A marine, sitting in the back, vomited. The driver screamed as a head of a Hydralisk poked into the vehicle from the hatch, a sickle-arm clutching the APC's side. The other sickle smashed its way into the APC, easily carving the steel and titanium armor. Marines fired their guns, in a panic, at the Hydralisk and the driver. Zerg and human flesh became intermixed; the ammunition the gunner carelessly placed inside the vehicle exploded.

Outside, Nacdle watched the APC explode, taking the eight marines, driver, and Hydralisk in an inferno of flowery, blooming fire, balls of heat igniting fuel and shells. The long snake of men and vehicles hissed to a stop. Zerg emerged from the path forward of the troops, as well as the top ridges, high above the Terran. From underneath tanks and armored vehicles, more Hydralisk appeared, unburrowing, only to see that the Terran vehicles were above them. Even this didn't deter the Zerg. Raising their arms, they sliced through the bottom of the tanks, spilling mechanical organs and fuel out.

Inside another APC, marines were screaming as a razor sickle sliced through metal and flesh underneath their vehicle, unmindful of the blood flowing out of a stump of a marine's foot.

Infantry scrambled out of Zerg-infested APCs, shouting for siege tanks to give them supporting fire. A tank commander, receiving a wave of calls for support fire, curses, and shouts of dying men, panicked, already under increasing pressure. He ordered his gunner to fire straight at an APC, as Hydralisks rampaged inside. Marines, too close to the vehicle, shrieked unhumanly, clutching their unprotected faces as skin blistered off due to the super-heated air from the blast.

Nacdle ducked at a blow aimed to separate his head from the rest of his body. His light armor saved him, as he flexed away from the blow by the Hydra. He backed away, firing a grenade. The Hydralisk caught it in its mouth, as marines behind Nacdle fired a salvo of spikes. Meaty chunks of flesh exploded from the Zerg creature, as Nacdle watched grimly at the rest of the task force dying under the sudden wave of Zerg. He knew the game the Overmind played with them was up. Any discipline and cohesion that the Terran troops could muster was rapidly being vaporized by a well-executed Zerg attack. A surge of sudden battle fatigue overwhelmed the captain, as he put his hand painfully on his helmet, trying to stop his head from exploding. He fought it down, using his psionic energy to give him a boost of energy. _Won't have to keep my secret for long anymore..._he thought, _looks like my end's coming._

The Zerg were indeed perfectionists in psychological and physical warfare. The carnage and the devilry of the Zerg made men whimper, and the slaughter and mutilation made it worse. As Nacdle looked on, Terran and Zerg forces mixed in flesh and blood, as gallons of crimson blood was stirred with light red Zerg blood. Men were screaming, officers screamed and shot at their own troops to control them, and tanks fired too closely, incinerating Terran and Zerg alike. It was what Terran and Protoss commanders feared most: a total breakdown and loss of cohesion and control through a strong, surprising, and deadly Zerg counterattack.

Nacdle gritted his teeth. The Zerg were bastards, alright, and they needed more lead in their systems to calm them down. The captain began to shout an order, but his psionic sense tingled with sudden alarm. He turned around, his back to the canyon's massive walls now, and looked up: there, hovering and looking at the carnage at glee were flyers, their mouths secreting juices and chemicals. Nacdle had only seen them once before, in a briefing before he arrived at Umoja: Queens.

They struck.

The Queens targeted the men below, emitting a projectile at tanks, APCs, and Goliaths below. Like a scene from the pits of hell, the projectiles enveloped the host to form cocoons, each sprouting a mouth. Mouths ate through Terran armor, fuel, plastic, and flesh, metabolizing anything and everything in its way. As soon the Terran thing infected was devoured, the cocoon burst along the seams, the Terran metal and flesh fueling growth for two Broodlings that spawned out of the hellish scene. Tanks became two massive Broodlings, as marines screamed, yelled profanities, and loosed a maddening salvo of gunfire upon enemy and allies.

Nacdle had a hard time controlling his men, as some were being encroached upon on all sides by dozens of Broodlings. He looked up again, wanting to vent his rage at the Queens and Terran ships that were supposed to be providing desperately needed air support. _Where are they! _Surprisingly, none were left. In their wake was dozens of hovering Overlords. _Overlords...oh shit. _

**At BETA Road, approaching final ramp to the Overmind**

ALFA task force was not the only one caught in the trap of the Overmind. Protoss were battling furiously to repel an underground Zerg assault, as most of the Terran/Protoss fleet was being beset on all sides by the fortifications the Overmind massed along its inner ring of defenses, less than five hundred meters away from the beast itself. As cries for help by Protoss and Terran troops came over the intercom, ships were racing back to the overwhelmed troops inside the four canyon paths.

"Bloodfest" was the motto of the 241st Infantry Support Battalion, a squad of Goliaths that provided the extra punch for marines and firebats. The massive M-28A3 Goliath walkers helped provide the cover for infantry, and it could operate in groups efficiently. Efficient as they were, no one was prepared to provide support to infected Goliath walkers, as they were being metabolized. Caught without warning, large groups of Queens descended down on the unwary Terran armory and troops, making Broodlings out of smoldering remains of armor and men.

"Flash", a call name for one of the Goliaths, watched in a wide-eyed horror as one of his lead Goliaths was encrusted by a projectile, which preceded to eat the machine and human controlling it bit by bit. It exploded, hatching two Broodlings in its wake.

From the skies above, a large group of overly bloated Overlords, almost pregnant with their loads, descended on the Terran army. Like giant dropships, they opened their stomachs, dropping down Zerg warriors wrapped in a gelatinous bubble. The Goliath pilot looked at them with horror and curiosity as a thousand rifles went up, blurring bullets into the massive bubbles. In some of the sphere, oddly deformed shapes of Zerglings could be seen, features disfigured by the liquidy insides of the bubbles. In other giant spheres though, massive, elephantine like shapes were writhing with battle anxiety. The Goliath pilot suddenly realized the importance of killing the airborne Zerg before they were on the ground. He lifted his autocannons up, and stared as the Zerg started to land. _Too late!_

Like giant, biological bombs, the bubbles exploded, sending a mass of sticky, white, jelly-like fluid out, sticking on marines' armor, preventing them from moving their guns, and their feet, useful when fleeing for their lives. "Flash" watched as the Zergling that "hatched" out of the bubble preceded to maul ten marines to death as their guns hung uselessly at their sides, stuck in gelatinous material. The M-28 captain also realized that his death was not far, but at least he would see his own killer. The autocannons, pointing rigidly to the sky filled with Overlords and Queens, were no help at the massive elephant creature rampaging towards the Goliath. Beady eyes pointed out at the Goliath pilot, as he closed his own eyes.

ALFA and BETA roads were awash with the blood of humanity.

**Antioch Province, Aiur, outside the main Protoss Praetorian Guards Legion**

Like a signal, the Guardian's last lob of acid smashed the Khaydarin Crystal Pylon powering the photon cannons. The image was frozen in time, as the automated defenses stopped firing at the incoming Zerg, and as they inundated the fallen Protoss defenses, running past Zealots in red armor, dead not from a Hydra's needle spine or a Zerglings voracious claws, but from exhaustion. For more than a hundred hours a Zerg Cerebrate and Brood, upon a desperate message from the Overmind, pounded away at the weakening Guards' Defenses in the Antioch sector of Aiur, a few hundred kilometers away the Zerg entity. The Praetorian Guards Centurion, foolish enough to think at an already weakened Legion could hold back against a full might of a Zerg Brood, had issued to call for reinforcements, when the Zerg pressed their onslaught. Too late.

Even when reinforcements were called, none were available, now it was too late. Zerglings, faster than their Hydralisk and Ultralisk cousins, ran with the full host of the Brood, loaded in hundreds of Overlords, heading straight towards the massive battlefield centered around the Overmind. Another nasty surprise was about to await Raynor and Tassadar as they rallied their troops.

**Overmind's Plateau, _Itas _Legion**

Ramis heard the unmistakable sound of rumbling. What the sound meant did not worry him; he had plenty of experience fighting Zerglings. It was _where_ the sound was coming from: from the back of the Templar armies on the plateau, from the original starting point the Protoss host had departed. Now two forces of Zerg were coming at the warriors on the plateau: from the north, where the Overmind lay, and from the south, where a massive deluge of yellow colored Zerg were advancing.

_May the Gods preserve us,_ Ramis murmured psionically to his fellow Zealots, _how could they have done this?_

_Let us not worry about that premonition now,_ one of the other Zealots thought to Ramis. _Look, Terran warriors are coming to greet us._ He pointed to the west, where heavily armored firebats with plasma-based fuelpacs on their backs jogging towards the Zealots. The commander spoke up.

"Alright, looks like we're all in this together now, boys," squadron commander Hancock said, lifting up his visor and greeting the Zealots in the only Protossian he knew. "En taro Adun."

The Zealots nodded back. _Are you prepared for this attack, human commander?_ Ramis thought. Hancock nodded, and spoke back to the Zealot even though it appeared all was silent between the two races as they stood there, battle raging. "Most of the Terran troops that had made it up on this here plateau have moved into easily defensible positions, like those bomb craters." Hancock pointed at the craters made by the Gravedigger bombers. Terran marines were already safely snuggled into some of them, blasting at Zerg.

_Do you expect us to cower in those holes?_

"If you want to survive for any extended amount of time."

Ramis hesitated, but realized the Terran's wisdom. The slaughter of more Protoss would not help inhibit the Zerg advance.

_Lead on._

Hancock had the strangest feeling of _deja-vu_ as he led his men and Protoss troops to craters. He was going to be holed up again.

**Aboard the command ship-carrier _Gantrithor_**

The Executor of the Allied Forces watched solemnly as the Zerg turned out its final, cunning attack against his people and his friends. Protoss forces had met similar fates when the Terrans had been ambushed by Queens and Overlord dropping troops. Instead of a mass aerial assault, the Protoss blundered into a huge wall of Zerg. The Overmind had practically threw every expendable Zerg into battle against them, surprising and driving back the Protoss. Only in sacrificing their lives had the Protoss stemmed the advanced.

_Sacrifice...why didn't I think of it before?_ Tassadar wondered, almost awed by his own stupidity and shortsightedness. The Protoss and Terran troops had been already sacrificing too much as they fought against this burgeoning terror spreading through the galaxies, and here he was, the _Gantrithor_ only a few short minutes away from the creature...through his mind, Tassadar relayed a message to the Dark Templar Envoy, Zeratul. If the Zerg were to fall soon, his ship and him would do it. He just hoped he'd lived long enough to do it.

**AFLA Roadway, Zulu Company**

Nacdle, being the intrepid captain he was, stepped over a carcass of a Hydralisk with his gun blazing, and knocked out another Zergling. Besides him, his company was in shatters, as they huddled around, wondering what the hell they were here for. Jast, a medical corpsman, was busy patching up men, screaming for more supplies under a cover of a burnt tank. Jones and his men, almost out of ammunition, were gathering up as many guns as they could from the dead.

After the Queens and Overlord drops, Zulu found itself cut off from the rest of the convoy; the drops by the Overlords had come in the front of the line of armored vehicles, directly behind Zulu, which was spearheading the faltering assault. A massive pile of burnt vehicles and men stopped Zulu from rejoining the rest of the assault. Nacdle ordered his men to fight through the waves of Zerg separating them and the rest of the troops, else they would be cannon fodder for Zerg.

Deek Sampson, the green marine that had warned Nacdle about his gut-feelings about Zerg, was babbling through his ICD non-stopped to the rest of the company, annoying and pissing of the rest of the men. "I'm telling ya Cap'n I told yuh guys this was gonna happen, I swear I knew this shit was gonna happen to us; why in this Godforsakenplace doesthishafta happen-" He gurgled, blood spewing out of his cracked visor, and fell. Nacdle watched with the slightest tinge of emotion before screaming for a medic and resuming firing.

The ICD in his helmet crackled.

"Captain Nacdle, that you?" Colonel Barry Dawlson of the 2nd Battalion, 12th Regiment, 1st Airborne Assault Division popped up in a holo in on the side of Nacdle's helmet.

"I'm here, sir."

"You boys still trying to fight your way to us?"

"Correct."

"I've got a new assignment for you: take the second to last ramp you're supposed to be on right now, before these bitches dropped on us. You're not really any use here."

"Sir, my company's not really a use anywhere. I've got numerous casualties, nowhere to move them, and I've barely got any ammunition and no armor."

"Then get the men that are still fighting up, gather some weapons and ammo, and run the hell out of here. You'll be surrounded by Zerg if you don't. We're giving you two shots from siege tanks to clear your way, and then get the hell to the next ramp."

"Yessir."

"What's going on, Nacdle?" The captain turned around to see Jones look at him, through his visor, cold, hard black hiding his face. Nacdle smiled underneath his helmet, seeing the Jones still had lost the respect for him by addressing him as an inferior.

"We're moving up to the next ramp, but don't go charging up the damn thing yet. The Gravediggers might not have taken out everything and there's a buttload of Zerg rampaging on the plateau."

"On the plateau? Now? I thought the infantry and armor was taking care of things."

"Colonel Dawlson told me the opposite," Nacdle said, lying. The only way he knew thousands of Zerg were coming from unsupported backside of the allied troops was because of the sudden pulses of psionic energy the Zerg and Protoss momentarily gave off as they died.

"When it rains, it pours."

Nacdle shook his helmet free of the heavy, drenching, Aiuran monsoon.

"Let's hope the downpour isn't that hard."


	11. Chapter 10: Weathering the Storm

Chapter Ten: Weathering the Storm

STO Walker watched from the battle station of the _Hyperion,_ as the situation turned from good to bad to worse. The tide was turning rapidly, and the Terran/Protoss troops were being drowned in the storm of Zerg. From the south, fresh Zerg units from Antioch province were inundating the Overmind plateau with blood; Protoss and Terran troops were desperately trying to set up a siege line, defending from both the Tiamat Brood and the fresh Zerg from Antioch. But they were caught in a massive trap, pounded by both sides. From the roadways, Terran troops were bogged down by Zerg forays with the successful Overlord drop; and the Protoss were having the same trouble. And then there were the fleets of ships. Terran and Protoss starfighters and ships experienced a surprising heavier than expected losses. Spore colonies had seemed more than enough to contend with battlecruisers and carriers, Science Vessels had reported the colonies had been intoxicated with a more corrosive acid and upgraded with range. The A-3s also had been severely depleted of the bombs and missiles needed to do concussive damage to the Zerg defenses. Battlecruisers too, were also lacking in their armory of plasma based explosive charges and anti-matter bombs, due to the explosion at the armories at base camp, when the Zerg attacked.

Raynor shook his head as he downed another cup of Khaf from the bridge. He had ordered a retreat for battlecruisers and starfighters, ordering them to split and help the forces on the plateau and the ramps. He knew this action would severely weaken the Terran forces and leave the Protoss fleets to carry-on the harrying operations on the Overmind themselves, but he had to give most of these ships back to Umoja when he was done. He knew the attacks today were a failure; they would not penetrate the Zerg bastion, nor would they help in significantly weakening the Overmind. But he wanted to capture all the ramps before retiring; this way the Overmind's control was limited.

"Walker, how many dropships do we still got operational?"

"About twenty or so, sir. You want to do something with them?

"Get those special operations teams out in the dropships, along with some heavy armor. I want-" Raynor walked to the holomap displaying the criss-cross of forces on Aiur. "-that and that ramp on ALFA road captured immediately. BETA road ramps will have to wait for some Gravediggers to come with out and carpet bomb the place before the task force can get enough troops to clear the ramps out."

"Yes sir! Who do you want in charge of the ALFA operation?"

"Get McAllen out there. He blew up the Cerebrates, and hopefully he can do something equally creative with taking out the ramp defenses."

**On Overmind-held plateau**

Hancock and his firebats, along with a mixture of Zealots and Dragoons, were stubbornly holding out against a wave of Zerg that was beating down upon them. Torrential, violent rain and blood splashed down upon the troops as they re-enacted the bloody ancient-Earth battles of soldiers slaughtering each other in a pure, wild, carnage. Zerglings evaporated and firebats exploded in bloody wrecks of humans, and Zealots died with a final swing of their psionic blades. Never had there been so much death.

Hancock nodded in thanks to a Zealot as it carved up a Zergling sneaking up on his rear. The Zealot then glowed a bright blue once, signaling his shields were down, and then died, spines encrusting the warrior's golden armor. Hancock caught sight of Hydralisk's being dropped down by those Godforsaken Overlords, and onto the plateau.

"Ok Yankees, get the hell back to the craters, we've got Hydralisks!"

A mad scramble of boots greeted his announcement, and Hancock rushed back to the craters with his men. A _foosh_ of a thousand spines rushed past them, just as the men ducked under the cover of crater walls, made by the Gravediggers errant bombing runs. Another volley of the spikes, and then another, and another. Firebats were good at massacring melee units like Zerglings, but against the range-superior Hydras, they had no choice but to retreat.

Hancock looked at one of his men, straining to push his whole body into the earth, into his grave. Another bat spoke up.

"Sir, I've got one question: What happens after these bitches run out of spines to shoot at us?"

Almost miraculously the spines stopped.

"Then they rush us with their sickles. Alright, you lazy, no good whelks! Up to your feet!"

Hancock got up with the rest of his company, as other company commanders echoed the call. He looked out at the plateau, seeing Zealots and Dragoons _still _fighting against the Hydras; they had not retreated like the Terran troops. _Musta have something to do with the honor thing in their culture..._

The firebat lifted up his Perdition flamethrowers, smoking the first Hydra coming up at him, as it lifted his sickle. Others did the same, impaling firebats with their sickles, smashing helmet, skin, bone and flesh from the head up in a grotesque display of violence. Slowly, the Zerg began to push the bats and Protoss back, back into a waiting mass of Zerglings fresh from the Overmind's lairs.

Like a ghost, a phantomly apparition appeared overhead, creating a swirling vortex. _A Protoss ship..._

Out of the vortex, a detachment of Zealots, Dragoons, and other Protoss stepped out, and then suddenly the battle was turned. Zerg shrieked as they began pounding their heads to the ground, as if all of them were affected by something in their mind. Hancock looked in the middle of the detachment of fresh Protoss troops as his men cheered. A glowing entity almost floating off the ground, with several of its exact profiles, like ghosts, trailing it. Hancock knew what these things were: High Templars, the veteran of the Protoss Forces, who could literally bend another's mind at will. It must have ripped the minds' of those Zerg apart. _Wouldn't like to be facing one of those things,_ Hancock thought. Overhead, Hancock noticed one lone, giant of a carrier lumbering directly at the Overmind, a few escorts trailing its wake.

Then a sudden firestorm hit the plateau.

Three successive waves of shells, delivered by the Arclite tanks from some god-know-where place, hit the remaining Protoss and Terran troops on the plateau. Men screamed as their armor peeled off their body, as skin was melted and encrusted on their muscles. Protoss High Templar and Zealots vanished in an aura of blue, joining their ancestors.

Hancock was thrown off his feet, and then quickly scrambled back into a hole. _Why the hell are our own tanks shelling us?_

"HQ, HQ, this is Y Company at plateau OMEGA. You are shelling your own troops. I repeat, you are shelling your own troops," Hancock said, as calmly as he could.

"Roger Yankee." A small holo of some communications officer popped up in Hancock's helmet. "Our sensors indicate massive amounts of Zerg engulfing your position."

"Well you're wrong! There's nothing. Now stop shelling us, goddamnit!"

"Roger." The holo disappeared, and the thunder from the tanks became silent.

Zerg erupted from the ground, unburrowing and attacking whatever remnants of the Terran and Protoss forces.

Hancock watched as a Zergling clawed open a napalm fuel tank of one of his men, exploding it and the Zergling. Zealots fought furiously, but they died under the claws of dozens of Hydralisks and Zerglings.

_Oh god...that officer was right. _He smiled. _Clever buggers. Too bad they don't know we're clever too._

"HQ, HQ, come in."

"Roger, Yankee."

"Shell our position."

"What?"

"Shell our fucking position." A roar of men and Zerg dying filled the silence.

"Roger Yankee." A pause. "Godspeed, and good luck."

As the shells came down to obliterate Protoss, Terran, and Zerg, Hancock's only regret was he couldn't have one last beer with his buddy Raynor.

**ALFA Road, following Zulu Company**

Nacdle paced his company to the next ramp, eighty-five troops that were left out of the one-hundred and twenty men. And only forty troops remained from the original one hundred twenty that survived the multiple Zerg attacks against their dropship.

"Stop," he ordered through his ICD, and his company followed his suit, as they reached the ramp.

"What's up, Captain?" Nacdle turned around to see Jones waiting there, impatient. The man had been getting on his nerves ever since he had been promoted captain.

"Something's wrong," Nacdle responded, flatly.

"Everything's fucking wrong when you're around, Captain." Jones wasn't being sarcastic.

Above the ramp, smoldering, blasted remains of colonies intermingled with the stench of blood. Embedded with what was left of the Zerg garrison assigned to the ramp was a Defiler. Insectoid-like and deadly, the Zerg creation specialized in biological and chemical warfare, through the clever use of chemicals in its body that made up every Zerg strain. The glowing red eyes watched Zulu creep across the canyon's floor to the ramp. From its body's spores, it emitted a orange haze of fog, which slowly covered an entire proportion of the battlefield. Orange gas was not the right term to describe it. The gas was composed of trillions of minute insects, so small that they could, collectively, block out molecules in the air, and disrupt even sound waves that traveled in the damp currents. The tiny creatures worked well in the dampness of the rain, and slowly it creeped up on Zulu, a massive, expanding cloud of gas.

**Aboard the _Hyperion_**

STO Walker couldn't believe it. It seemed as if a whole section of the battleground was covered by a dense, expanding fog...he looked at the disappearing unit that was heading towards the second to last ramp on ALFA road. Zulu. Hadn't he heard of that unit somewhere? He poked a fellow tactician officer in the back, and pointed to the holomap.

"What the hell's going on?"

The tactician looked at it, as the fog increased its volume, blocking out the terrain and troops displayed on the map.

"Dark Swarm," he said, flatly. The officer was too tired to even begin to comprehend what it was. All he knew was, that another company was about to get slaughtered.

On the map, another dozen dropships, from the _Hyperion_, moved into the blanket of fog, and then disappeared before anyone could see it.

**Aboard the dropship _T-43_**

The elite strike teams that Raynor "borrowed" from the Umojan Protectorate were nicknamed MINOTAUR for an Earth beast-like creature, taken from their mythology. One by one, the teams dropped from dropships straight onto the two remaining ramps on ALFA that the task force had not captured. McAllen was straining his eyes to see through the dense, heavy, orange fog hiding the ramp. It was going to be nasty landing on it, and not even his MECH-OP was able to penetrate to gaseous mass of orange. He jumped, gun in hand.

**With Zulu Company**

Slaughter. As they died, the men raised silent, expanding shrieks through their helmets as Zerglings tore them apart through the cover of orange gas. Screams that were not heard, not even through the ICD. The tiny, invisible insects that collectively made up a Dark Swarm blocked out the sound waves traveling through the damp air, scattering the waves like sand in wind.

Jones had a nightmare on his hands as his men signaled with hands, expressions, and naked looks of fear on their faces, unable to comprehend what was going on. Any scrap of courage, any vestige of the pride the Raiders had drowned in an flood of despair. Using his hands, Jones signaled his troops to group around him, so the chance of being caught unexpected by a voracious Zergling was reduced.

But Jones was lost himself. His men disappeared in the shadows of the fog, as visibility was so bad that Jones couldn't even see where he was pointing his gun in front of him. He bumped into something, and his automatic, panicked senses shot at it, pumping three bullets into the decapitated form of a marine. He screamed.

He heard something echoing through his mind; at first he thought it was his own brain telling him to stay put. But another man's voice was in his head. _Jesus, am I going crazy?_

_No, stay put. I'm coming. _

_Who the hell are you?_

_Nacdle._

_What the hell? Why...oh god..._

_Yes, I'm a Ghost._

Serenely, the orange fog hid the Captain of Zulu as he appeared, almost out of nowhere from the carnage. Jones could barely see him, but his mouth was wide open. Who the hell was the guy?

**Above Zulu**

The orange gas did not seriously interfere with the special ops teams from operating. Most of them were Ghosts, trained to be blind and still be able to fire a gun straight through a wall and kill a man on the other side. They dropped, some elite marines providing cover as other Ghosts, suited in standard CMC-400 armor, fired special C-21 "Cutter" heavy machine guns into unwary Zerg. The fog thinned out, turning a diluted, red-orange color.

A marine commander, one of the few not a psionically gifted humans on the teams, stood as a rear guard with his men, right beside the ramp. Below them, only a few hundred meters away, were Nacdle and Jones. Around them were the remnants of Zulu as they waited for the fog to lift. The marine commander on top of the ridge squinted, unable to make out the dark forms. Zerg? Human? Protoss? He didn't know, but suddenly one of the creatures made a quick move towards the ramp. The marine, startled, shot wildly at the moving figures.

McAllen turned around, surprised as his gun toasted the Zergling. He felt the unmistakable noise of a Ghost's psionic energy pulse with pain. McAllen suddenly knew what was going on. He raced down the ramp.

**With Zulu Company**

Jones could suddenly hear his own voice screaming as the fog began to disappear. "-edic! Medic! MEDIC!"

One hand felt around for the bullet, another was on the trigger of his gun. What fool would shoot at his own guys! How the hell did marines get on the ramp in this shit! Random pieces of thoughts floated around in his mind. Nacdle gasped for breath.

Jones had panicked when Nacdle arrived, thinking that the Ghost would do something to him. It was not uncommon to have moles inside ordinary units in the Umojan Corps, factions constantly irritated each other by sending in their agents to infiltrate the other's army. But Nacdle had just stood there as Jones turned around to run, and then he caught the back of Jones' armor and heaved him down. Blurs of bullets flew past him, and Nacdle suddenly winced in pain as a spike hit the back of his armor.

Blood seeped out into the ground from the exit wound on Nacdle, as Jones called for help. _Jesus, this guy just saved me, what the hell he's a Ghost, why did he do that-_

"Get up."

McAllen, his head partially covered with a Ghost's complicated headgear, pointed the barrel of his C-10 at Nacdle. Obediently, Jones did. The two Ghosts looked at each other, one laying, back on the ground, breathing heavily and staring at the Ghost pointed a weapon at him.

McAllen smiled grimly. "We thought the mole was in one of the crack units."

Nacdle smiled, blood gurgling from his mouth. "No, you're bloody wrong. I was here all along. Why didn't you shoot me when you figured I had psionic capabilities?" The man had a strange, odd accent Jones had never heard before. McAllen didn't look surprised.

"I only suspected. And I was too busy." Jones looked from one man to the other, trying to comprehend what the hell was going on.

"How long have you been here?"

"Two years."

"Jesus."

"Sir, what the hell is going on? Who the hell is this man?" Jones pointed at Nacdle with a half accusing, half curious tone.

McAllen looked at the lieutenant, nodding. "He's an agent. They call them 'Infiltraitors,' or 'traitors for short. He's was sent here by..." McAllen looked at Nacdle. "the UED?"

Nacdle nodded. "Earth."

**Aboard the carrier _Gantrithor_**

Tassadar looked through a porthole of the carrier. On the plateau, the Overmind seemed to be bellowing with laughter as swarms overran the meager Terran and Protoss forces caught in a pincer trap; masses of red, not of blood, but of Zerg, filled the entire land, inundating the forms in dark blue and yellow armor. It was time.

_Centurion,_ Tassadar echoed in his mind, to the Protoss standing next to him, _prepare an evacuation of the ship._

_Of course, High Templar Tassadar,_ the commander of the ship curtly replied, though a faint curiosity lingered in the dark yellow hues of her eyes. The ship had not been badly damaged, and was punching a hole through the Zerg, inching closer to the Zerg entity. The Protoss were paying in the blood of their best pilots and navigators though, as fighters and capital ships escorting the massive carrier pummeled along the way.

Prelate Artanis lingered in the fighter bay of the _Gantrithor, _and then feel something faintly odd as a Protoss reached into the depths of the psionic energies to communicate with a tainted psionic sense. Tassadar was communicating with one of the Dark Templar, Artanis mused. Probably Zeratul. The psionic sense that the ambassador of the _Jashas_ had was slightly tainted, as if something was not right, unlike the pure psionic energies the _Khala _Protoss embraced. The Prelate felt something was wrong...Tassadar did not usually communicate with anyone during the battle. Artanis raced to the bridge, noting the strained tranquility each Protoss had as they moved to the escape pods...something was very, very wrong.

_You are sure you want to do this, Tassadar?_ Zeratul's leathery face floated into Tassadar's mind as they communicated.

_It is the only thing we can do. We are too close for anything else but this._

_Then may you find peace with the gods, brave son of Aiur. My brethren and I will link to your psionic power and channel enough of it to destroy the Overmind._

_Look after our people, Zeratul._

_It shall be done._

Artanis stopped as he heard these words. Standing not twenty paces away from him was the greatest Templar since Adun, and here he was, about to sacrifice himself for the good of his people. But Tassadar was the only link between the Dark Templar and the Khala Protoss, the only bright glimmer for the their dark future.

_You cannot do this, Executor!_

Tassadar turned around, looking surprised. _Prelate Artanis. You are to go on a escape craft like the rest of the crew._

_There are other ways to rid us this infestation. You cannot leave us. The Protoss, the Terran, the universe, needs you! To lead us to Shakuras and back to Aiur._

_Nonsense, Artanis. You are now the Praetor of the Protoss. You are now our leader. Zeratul, Aldaris, the rest of the Protoss need you as a link between our cousins. Between the humans. It is you who will lead our people to safety and the future._

_Then this is the end, Executor? Does it end now?_

Tassadar smiled.

_My part of this story is over. Yours is just beginning. The Zerg is just the beginning of the conflict, but it is time for the Overmind to die. _Tassadar took his seat at the bridge of the ship, as Zerg flyers rocked it around, sparks flying as the craft strained to reach its destination. _Keep you honor and the honor of your people. En taro Adun, Prelate Artanis!_

Artanis took two steps back, towards the escape pod. Then, in his mind he whispered his last thought to Tassadar.

_No Executor. En taro Tassadar. For it is you who will be sung about generations from now._

And with that the young Protoss left. The Overmind silently screamed through the cosmos. The time had come.

**With Zulu Company**

"First Infiltraitor we've caught."

"Good, we're doing well in covering ourselves." The man chuckled, dripping blood over his mouth.

"You're name isn't Nacdle, I'm guessing?" McAllen still had his sniper rifle pointed at the heart. The other Ghost shook his head.

"My operative instructions was titled 'Operation CANDLE.' My objective was to inspire mercenaries to fight for someone that would benefit them, namely, the UED fleet that is coming, without specifying who they would fight for. From CANDLE I devised the name Nacdle."

"Clever."

"Wait-Earth? Jesus, what the hell is going on, sir?" Jones was almost bursting with curiosity. None of this made sense. None! What the hell was Earthling doing here, millions of leagues from Earth?

McAllen looked at the lieutenant, debating whether he should release some classified Umojan Intelligence material. Then he turned to the other Ghost Agent lying on the ground. "How long have you been here and when is the UED Expeditionary Fleet coming?"

"Two years for your first answer. Two months for your second." McAllen nodded. _Doesn't matter if I tell him or not. _The commando sighed.

"Few years back, we noticed some irregularities in the Koprulu Sector. There were ships, small ones, which were coming from some unknown source that we haven't found. This system is goddamn massive, so we thought some ex-cons had started a colony on some unknown planet in this system and were smuggling whatever exotic animals or other crap they could find into Umojan, the Fed-controlled planets, and Moria."

"You guys were wrong," Nacdle exclaimed, removing an armored plate from his chest. Underneath his CMC armor was a uniform with an army patch. On it was an black eagle gripping bolts of lightning, with the words stamped clearly on the bottom. UED: UNITED EARTH DIRECTORATE- INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE, it read.

"My god..." Jones exclaimed, mouth gaping. All this time, a fucking Agent under his nose! He thought about all the times Nacdle's odd sounding accents were pronounced differently, how he knew too much to be a goddamn merc, how he had read his mind dozens of times. He was a spy.

McAllen stared at the insignia patch with a dull expression. "Our first clue was when one of our Wraith patrols chased one of the ships that was dropping agents in our world. It crashed on Tibulus, but we looked at the damage. The only thing that identified the ship was that all the dead crewmembers had uniforms with your kind of insignia. That's when we knew something was up." Nacdle said nothing.

"My unit, SI-8, the counterintelligence of the Umojan Military Intelligence, was assigned our group to sniff out any 'Infiltraitors,' as they were called. We suspected there were moles in our own intelligence and armed services, but not in a damn mercenary division."

"But I suspected you because you blocked off any access to you mind when I tried to read it. Remember, when we first met? You had a psionic power that you were obviously hiding from your unit."

"Why didn't you do anything about it?" Nacdle asked. McAllen reached out with his psionic power and felt the energy from the other man. It was getting weaker. "Why didn't I? Because I wasn't sure. That's it. I couldn't imagine a spy in a merc division." McAllen still looked somewhat surprised. "But now, since you are what you are, we'll need you for an interrogation." McAllen turned to his ICD. "Medic! We need a medic over here!"

Nacdle shook his head. "Look, I'm going to die. I know it. Give me my bloody peace for five minutes."

McAllen looked dumbfounded. "We still need you for intelligence. You're an asset of UMI."

"Commander, my planet's whole armada is heading this way to the Koprulu Sector. It's over, you hear? My fellow Earthlings have got everything under control once we arrive here. No more Zerg. You'll be part of our colonies. We're here to save you. It's over." Nacdle turned around to Jones.

"My apologies, lieutenant, for behaving the way I did towards you. You thought I was some bloody merc? I thought you were some beer-bellied, ugly backwater hick." More blood poured down as he smiled. "We fought well, lieutenant. You fought well. Zulu fought well. We were a good company, weren't we?"

Jones nodded, still unable to comprehend what was going on.

McAllen looked on, and then he saw it a massive Protoss carrier, dark blue energies spiraling around it, with a sense of a dark taint in the psionic energy, crashing directly into the Overmind. In an instant, all of the tainted psionic weight that was in both Ghosts' minds disappeared, like an infestation being removed from their psi energies. The Zerg entity was no more.

A medic, newly arrived from the ALFA task force that was streaming further into the canyon, ran breathlessly to the three men on the ramp. "You called for a medic, sir?"

McAllen was about to respond when Jones interrupted him. "No. We don't need anyone here." He was looking down at the man, a bullet ridged into his lungs, eyes staring, emotionless in the damp sky. _Jesus. Him, of all soldiers. _

Jones turned to the Ghost.

"What now, Commander. Is Nacdle right? Is it all over when Earth comes back?"

McAllen was still looking at the tattered remains of Zerg, Terran, and Protoss forces, stretching out for kilometers. The Terrans and Protoss were here to preserve the balance of power in the galaxy. But Earth was coming over here to control it. "Directorate" sounded ill-omened.

"No, lieutenant. This is only the beginning."

The rains began to falter, as if the land was quenched of its thirst of blood and water, and asked for no more. The Aiuran sun rose behind the ruined form of the Overmind, and with it rose the dim hopes of the Terran and Protoss.

**FIN**


	12. Epilogue: Aftermath

_Author's Note: This is the last chapter of this story. However, I must confess I shouldn't have left it just this way. It ends, without really anything to say what the rest of the men did after they were done fighting. This epilogue only explains a few of the stories, to fulfill the curiosity of the readers, and to complete this story for me. The major plot though, of the epic struggles between Men, Zerg, and Protoss, are expressed by Brood War. This is, again, only a small portion of the stories of the thousands of faceless infantry that fought to win the battles of the Starcraft Universe._

_Disclaimer: In no way do I own Starcraft's characters, I just have the game and love it. Starcraft belongs to Blizzard, not me. Also, this novel is modeled after Stephen Ambrose's _Band of Brothers_ and Mark Bowden's _Black Hawk Down_ to give the reader a vivid sense of combat. Some inspiration from the movie _Saving Private Ryan _also helped in the writing of this._

_Etc: Thanks to EVERYONE who read this story, and also those who were kind enough to drop me a review. Your passion and reviews helped fuel the drive to write this, although it is not that good. I'm pleased that I've even written a story this long and complicated, and I'm surprised I'm even finishing it! Once again, THANKS!_

_"From this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remember'd..."_

Excerpt from the Saint Crispian Day's Speech, _Henry V_, Shakespeare

Epilogue: Aftermath

Beginning with their drop on the Jormungand Brood's sphere of influence and ending with the final, bloody push against the Overmind, Company Zulu-1, of the 1st Airborne Assault Division, fired almost three hundred thousand "spike" bullets, threw one thousand grenades, killed two thousand, five hundred Zerg, wounded another fifteen thousand, and lost one hundred and twelve men of the one hundred and seventy-eight that served.

The battles that Zulu fought in were by far, two of the most massive the universe had seen. Millions of men, Protoss, and Zerg perished, as a world was swept under a wave of blood and death. Though remembered in the histories of Protoss and Men, in the Terran Military Academies and the Protoss Citadels of War, where they were studied along with ancient battles such as Hastings, Waterloo, and Stalingrad, they also celebrated the unsung heroes of the battles that turned the tide of the epic war.

After the Umojans were evacuated out of Aiur, the men of Zulu-1 separated. Their will to survive bonded them together in battle, but not during peace. Many of the mercs signed with other factions for money, while the diehard Umojans defended their country against the invading United Earth Directorate and Dominion troops. Many were on Aiur to protect a planet, but many others were there for money to feed families.

Lieutenant Adam Jones never forgot the horrors and carnage he saw in the face of war. Nor did he forget the courage that his men and mercs displayed, or the enigmatic agent known as Nacdle. Shortly after the battle, he returned to Umoja as a veteran, as a civilian, and formed a group that promoted a united front against the Zerg, including with the invading UED. Never fully successful, he reenlisted as a Captain of the Umojan Armed Forces and fought in countless battles during the period after the Overmind's Death called the Brood Wars.

Commander Ethan McAllen also never forget how Nacdle and Zulu fought to buy him time to kill Cerebrate Araq. Though he joined with Jones' group promoting unity with their Earthling cousins, duty of homeworld recalled him back to the secretive world of espionage.

Captain Skip Ander of the Storks went on to lead his squadron in defending Umoja from the invading UED. Though his efforts kept Umoja as a neutral protectorate in Brood War, he was never promoted preferring to harass the enemy with his starfighter than command a starship.

These contributions are only memorialized in this story, for Zulu company was only one of the hundreds of the Terran and Protoss companies that fought to preserve the balance of powers of the galaxy. Hundreds of Protoss and Terran companies fought as desperately as Zulu.

But Zulu's men were unique. They were one of the many integrated companies, with the more well-trained, nationalistic young men of Umoja and Mar Sara mixed with the hardy, realistic, and unshaven mercenaries. Their goals and lives were different. But also unique was how they united, into a single unit of men, whose only goal was not to protect, not for money, nor for intelligence; it was to survive. Their basic instinct of survival united them into a coherent band, a band of men. For this, along with all the other men and Protoss that fought together, they are known as a Band of Brothers.


	13. Starcraft: Band of Brothers Glossary

_Starcraft: Band of Brothers Glossary_

**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

**TERRANS**

Captain Hal Jansen, squadron leader of 141st Storks

Captain Skip Ander, squadron member of 141st Storks

Chief Warrant Officer Patrick O'toole, squadron commander of Zulu-1C

Colonel Barry Dawlson, commander of 2nd Battalion, 12th Regiment, 1st Airborne Division

Colonel Ethan McAllen, Ghost with the Shadow Hunters/Tango Group near Jormungand Cerebrate Araq

Colonel Tommy Alexander, squadron leader of 252nd Black Flight

Commander James Raynor, commanding the _Behemoth_-class battecruiser _Hyperion_ and leader of Raynor's Raiders

Commandore Jerry Mathos, member of the Umojan Defense Forces

Communications Officer Jacqueline Andersen, crewmember of the _Behemoth_-class battlecruiser _Hyperion_

Corporal Andy Hawkins, squadron member of Zulu-1A

Corporal Deek Samson, squadron member of Zulu-1A (KIA)

Corporal Jay Yates, squadron member of Zulu-1D

Corporal Willie "G" Hancock, squadron commander of Yankee-1A

Corpsman Jan "J.J." Jast, squadron member of Zulu-1A

First Lieutenant Adam Jones, squadron commander of Zulu-1A

First Lieutenant Bo "Hornet" Nacdle, squadron commander of Zulu-1B (KIA)

Lieutenant Molly Jonstone, squadron member of 141st Storks

Major General Antony Dura, member of the Umojan Defense Forces

Private First Class Jack Smith, squadron member of Zulu-1B (KIA)

Private First Class John Shumaker, squadron member of Zulu-1A (KIA)

Private First Class Kit Ashley, squadron member of Zulu-1B (KIA)

Private First Class Pete Black, squadron member of Zulu-1C (KIA)

Private First Class Rob Jonson, squadron member of Zulu-1C

Private Jimmy Campbell, squadron member of Zulu-1A (KIA)

Second Lieutenant Allison Carter, squadron commander of Zulu-1D

Specialist Johnny Maxwell, squadron member of Zulu-1A

Specialist Mac Damly, squadron member of Zulu-1E

Staff Sergeant Bob Zyner, squadron commander of Zulu-1E (KIA)

Strategical/Tactical Officer Jamie Walker, crewmember of the _Behemoth_-class battlecruiser _Hyperion_

**PROTOSS**

Centurion Tes, Judicator Commander of the Arbiter _Jer'zhul_

Dark Templar Aragas, part of the Tango Team 1

Dark Templar Jin, part of Tango Team 1

Dark Templar Zami, part of Tango Team 1

Dark Templar Zeratul, part of Tango Team 3

High Templer/Executor Tassadar, Commander of the carrier_ Gantrithor_ and leader of the Protoss Defense Forces

Legionnaire Bachi, Judicator crewmember of the Arbiter _Jer'zhul_

Legionnaire Jax, Judicator crewmember of the Arbiter _Jer'zhul_

Legionnaire Ramis, Templar Zealot of the _Itas Legion_

_Nas'tal _Amees, piloting drone on the carrier _Gantrithor_

_Nas'tal _Legionnaire Daki, Templar Dragoon of the _Itas Legion_

_Nas'tal_ Shelik, piloting drone on the carrier _Gantrithor_

Praetor Fenix, member of the Protoss Defense Forces

Prefect Almashi, Judicator war counselor

Prelate Artanis, commander of the Praetorian Guards

**SHIPS, ARMOR, AND WEAPONRY**

**TERRANS: SHIPS**

_Abyss, Behemoth_-class battlecruiser

CF/A-17G Wraith S2-1, part of the Storks, 141st (Jansen's Wraith)

CF/A-17G Wraith S2-2, part of the Storks, 141st (Jonstone's Wraith)

CF/A-17G Wraith S2-5, part of the Storks, 141st (Ander's Wraith)

_Death's Head_, _Behemoth_-class battlecruiser, and part of the command wing of Ranyor's Raiders

Flagship _Hyperion, Behemoth_-class battlecruiser, and part of the command wing of Ranyor's Raiders

_Invincible_, _Victory_-class battlecruiser and part of the command wing of Raynor's Raiders

_R-92_ Fuel Vessel

_Sun Arc_, _Behemoth_-class battlecruiser

_T-34 _Dropship

_T-43 _Dropship

**TERRANS: ARMORY**

9mm "Reaper" pistol: standard sidearm carried by Ghosts

9mm "Zerg Popper" pistol: standard sidearm carried by Ghosts

_Atlas-_class IMBM: miniature nuclear device capable of obliterating everything in a 750 to 1500 m (.75 to 1.5 km) radius

C-10 "Frag" Gauss Rifle: standard sniper rifle carried by Ghosts

C-14 "Impaler" Gauss Rifle: standard automatic rifle carried by marines

C-21 "Cutter" machine gun: heavy weapon, high rate of fire

CMC-300 Armor: skirmish armor worn by marines

CMC-400 Armor: standard armor worn by marines

CMC-660 Armor: standard armor worn by Firebats

Fragmentation grenade: grenade fired from modified C-14 rifle, explodes on contact

SAML-10: disposable missile launcher that fires Hawkeye AA missiles

SHW-5: heavy weapon assigned to one member of each squadron, high rate of fire

Sticky grenade: hand grenade smothered with sticky, glue-like substance smothered on

**PROTOSS: SHIPS**

Flagship _Gantrithor_, "Protector of the Homeplanet," Protoss carrier of the Expeditionary Fleet and Homefleet, part of the command wing for the Protoss Defense Forces

_Jerzhul_, "Fury," Protoss Arbiter of the Third Fleet

**TERMS**

**TERRAN TERMS**

AA: Anti-Aircraft

APC: Armored Personnel Carrier

_bats: _nickname for Firebats

CMC: Confederate Marine Corps

Company Z(ulu)-1: Also designated as CZ-1. Each company is given a name, in alphabetical order, starting with A and ending with Z. "Zulu" is the nickname of Z company to avoid confusion. (Company A would be labeled Alpha.) Z-1 is the first company, Z-2 is another company. The letter after the number, as in Z-1A, stands for the squadron. There are eight squadrons in each company, so it starts with Squadron A (Z-1A) and it ends with Squadron H (Z-1H).

ETA: Estimated Time of Arrival

_grunt:_ nickname for marines

HQ: Headquarters

HUD: Head's Up Display

ICD: Infantry Communications Device

IMBM: Interplanetary Medium Ballistic Missile

KIA: Killed in Action

MECH-OP: MECHanical, OPtical, artificial eye used to enhance eyesight of Ghost agents

NBC: Nuclear, Biological, Chemical

Pfc.: Private First Class

Pvt.: Private

_R-#_: Refuel-#, as in _R-92_

_rubass_: RUBber, glASS, glass designed to absorb rather than shatter upon impact

SAML: Surface to Air Missile Launchers

SAR: Search and Rescue

SCV: Space Construction Vehicle

SHW: Squadron Heavy Weapon

Spc.: Specialist

STO: Strategical/Tactical Officer

_T-#_: Transport#, as in _T-34_

TT: Tarsonis Time, thirty planetary hours equal one day

UMI: Umojan Military Intelligence

**PROTOSS TERMS**

_Cholas- _"Killing Veil," worn by Dark Templar

_Itas- _"Death Trap," Protoss Legion of the Akilae Tribe, Templar Caste

_Izos-_ "Researchers," from the caste Khalai, equivalent to Terran scientists

_Jashas- _"Shadow Hunters," name given by Khalai Protoss to the Dark Templar

_Junos_- the length of a year for Protoss, equal to about 10.28 Terran years

_Khalai_- "Civilians," Pross caste

_Nas'tal_- "Injured Fighter," Protoss warriors reincarnated and volunteers to fight as drone pilot or Dragoon


End file.
